


Beneath the Skin

by Varkelton



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dark, Drowning, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s01e06 Skin, Fuck Or Die, Horror, Hospitalization, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Incest, Kidnapping, Knifeplay, M/M, Murder, Non-Consensual, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Panic Attacks, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Restraints, Scarification, Shapeshifting, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 23:33:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 52,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/893194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Varkelton/pseuds/Varkelton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The shifter took one look at Dean and knew that it had finally found a skin it wanted to keep. This human was someone it understood. Someone it wanted to be. Someone that made it complete. </p><p>When it looked at Dean’s brother, it felt a desire of a different kind, and nothing would stop it from taking what it wanted…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story picks up after the fight between Sam and the Shifter at the end of Season 1, Episode 6 – Skin.
> 
> This work was originally posted at Livejournal. Click **[here for the Master Post](http://varkelton.livejournal.com/49315.html)**

Searing pain burned down his throat and he whimpered quietly as he burrowed deeper under the covers, hoping to keep hold of the sweet oblivion of unconsciousness for just a little while longer. Maybe water would help… except that getting up to get some would pretty much guarantee his full return to consciousness. He licked his lips and swallowed again, intensifying the searing misery firing through his abused neck muscles. He let out a dull moan. 

Strangulation _sucked_. 

He ghosted his fingertips over his abused throat, stirring up a dull burn in the tender skin. He’d only been back in the game, what, a couple months now? Somehow he’d forgotten the love affair the supernatural seemed to have with his neck; by his count the number of times a creepy crawly had tried to constrict his breathing had exceeded five before he’d even hit eighteen. When he’d left for Stanford, he’d thought the last time was behind him. 

Yeah. 

He ran a tongue around the inside of his desert-dry mouth and grimaced. It tasted like something had died in there. Without thinking, he cleared his throat, spiking the slicing pain through his bruised muscles. Helplessly, he jerked his hands up to clutch at his throat, as if that would somehow help. The urge to cough bubbled up then, adding to his misery as he breathed deeply in and out through his nose, trying to fight it off. 

Where the hell was Dean? He needed some water… no… fuck that. What he needed were some goddamned pain-killers. 

Fuck it. He slowly started to sit up, and that was when the rest of his body loudly reminded him that he’d been thrown into a bookshelf and buried in the resulting avalanche before his brother’s double had beaten the holy everlasting shit out of him. 

Unable to hold in a loud groan and a louder, “Fuck!” he forced himself all the way up to sitting. Where the _God-dammed hell_ was Dean? He pressed his fingers against his eyes and attempted to focus his thoughts. 

He could remember the fight, albeit fuzzily. The shifter’s hands had been around his neck… the world had been fading out. Dean’s loud shout had echoed through the room, sending a wave of relief through Sam…and then… and then… 

There was nothing. 

Peering into his dim surrounds, he could just make out the familiar outlines of a random motel room. He didn’t think he’d ever been in this particular room before, though… 

What… 

Okay. Okay, the hunt was over. It had to be. Dean must have somehow killed the creature, or Sam wouldn’t be here; he’d be dead. Right?

But where the hell was here? 

Moving like an old man, Sam turned on the beaded lamp next to his bed and then painfully stood up, turning to look carefully around the room. All of their bags, his and Dean’s, seemed to be thrown carelessly in the corner... which meant Dean had be around here somewhere. The bathroom was dark so… Dean must’ve just gone out for something. He glanced at the table, but there was nothing. _Nice of his brother to leave a damn note…_

Wait. Maybe Dean was just out in the car... 

Sam managed to take all of two steps towards the door before it started slowly swinging open. His heart jumped into his throat and every aching muscle was suddenly on alert as he cast around for something to defend himself with. 

Dean’s face swam into view, finally registering to his tired brain. _Fuck_. He would have laughed out loud at himself if he didn’t think it would hurt – he was obviously still carrying around some serious post-hunt jitters. He was entitled; nearly dying could do that to a guy.

Balancing two sacks of food and a paper holder with a couple of large cups of McDonald’s coffee, Dean looked a bit relieved when he saw Sam standing there in the middle of the room like an idiot. He kicked the door closed behind himself, abandoning any effort to be quiet. “Hiya, Sammy!” he said cheerfully, setting the food down on the small table. “Welcome back to the land of the living!”

“It’s _Sam_ ,” he grated irritably, stumbling backwards so he could sink down onto the bed. “Just tell me you ordered me an extra side of pain-killers while you were out getting yourself that crappy food,” he croaked. God, his voice sounded like shit.

“Nope, just good old-fashioned greasy beef on a bun, just the way I know you like it. Man-up, dude,” Dean muttered dismissively. “Since when can’t you handle a little beating?”

Sam shot his brother a dirty look, flipping him a slow bird before collapsing backwards onto the scratchy bedspread. 

Paper rustling preceded a long (bordering on obscene) groan of pleasure from his brother, followed by loud, obnoxious chewing. 

“Seriously?” Sam groused from the bed, “You can’t be bothered to pull out the med-kit _before_ you start stuffing your face?”

“Nothin’ like a Big Mac first thing in the mornin’,” Dean moaned happily. “You want one?” The last was said around a too-big mouthful of food. 

Sam was too tired to come up with anything more creative than flipping his brother off again. When that produced no response, he sat up unhappily. 

He didn’t need Dean to baby him, he didn’t, but Sam was used to Dean being at least a _little_ more attentive than this after a bad hunt. Half-hoping Dean would tell him to just sit back down, Sam stood up slowly and crossed the room to their bags. Dean didn’t even look up from the burger he was still disgustingly cramming into his mouth. 

Sam kinda hoped he choked on it. 

It took a couple minutes of digging before he finally spotted a battered bottle of Naproxen. He snatched it up, sighing in happy anticipation as he quickly poured four into his hand. 

The room was starting to spin a little bit, and he had to brace a hand against the wall to steady himself. By the time he was all the way vertical again, Dean had pulled the laptop open and was eating a second drippy burger over the keyboard. 

_What the… **Jerk**_. 

Sam hobbled over to the table and irritably swiped their primary source of information away from his brother. He tossed it gently onto the bed as he moved into the bathroom; his throat was _not_ up to taking the pills dry. 

“Hey!” Dean complained loudly, his mouth once again over-full with food. “I was gonna find us a new hunt!”

“Finish your food first!” Sam meant to yell, but it scraped out softly instead. Fuck that hurt. He slammed the pills back with some water, which was more painful to swallow than he’d hoped, and then moved back to his bed. 

He pulled the computer towards himself. The top window was a porn site. _Seriously?_ With a grumpy sigh of discontent that he deeply hoped Dean heard, he clicked the browser closed as fast as possible and prayed that the out-dated virus protection would continue to hold up. Dean was going to destroy the laptop if Sam didn’t find a way to stop him.

Dean was chewing with his mouth open by that point, and if Sam hadn’t been sure that Dean was purposely trying to bait him before, he certainly was then. He wasn’t sure why Dean was so bored, though – they’d only just finished the damn hunt, which… hunt. Right. “So what happened?” Sam asked, shutting the lid with a sharp snap.

“What happened when?” Dean responded, not bothering to swallow first.

“Dude, gross! With the shifter? What happened? I thought it was going to kill me for sure, and then I heard you calling out, and then… nothing. How’d you kill it? And, shit, where’s Becky?” he added belatedly. “I think the shifter must’ve had her – it was wearing her skin before it turned into you.” 

Sam should have thought about Becky as soon as he’d woken up. A painful lump of guilt sank to the bottom of his stomach. The shifter had definitely knocked him off his game. He was just so ready to believe that his brother had taken care of everything when he’d woken up in a motel room. Shit, she could be seriously injured. He needed to…

“Yeah, about the hunt…” Dean said slowly, jerking Sam from his spiraling thoughts. He put the burger down, his face grim. “I was hoping to wait a little longer to break this to you, but… Becky didn’t make it, Sam.”

Sam blinked at his brother’s serious face, the words circling around his brain dizzily, not making any sense. Because. No. Not… Dean’d just said… “What? How?” Sam yelled belatedly, alarm sending him to his feet. No. No…

“I found her body in the thing’s lair. That’s when I realized that I needed to get to you ASAP,” Dean said softly.

“No,” Sam whispered. This couldn’t be happening. It was way too soon to lose another Stanford friend. Not after Jess… His legs gave out and he dropped back down to the bed like a stone. 

“That thing was strangling you when I got there. Shot it three times in the chest but you were already passed out, so I got us the hell out of there and brought you here. We’re about three towns over. Should be safe enough for a few days.” Dean moved over next to Sam and sat down, then reached over and pulled Sam into his arms unasked. 

Sam sank into the offered comfort gratefully. His eyes were burning; the sense of loss and helpless rage were making his head throb. _Not again… not again…_

Dean responded by pulling Sam even tighter against his chest . 

Fuck, _Zack_. 

The thought made him jerk in the tight circle of his brother’s arms. He needed to go tell Zack in person. He tried to pull away but Dean wouldn’t let him go. “Dean,” he muttered brokenly, “Please, I have to…”

Dean was stroking over Sam’s back, oblivious to Sam’s distress, his expression distant, his hands moving in slow circles almost… possessively. Sam froze, his heartbeat suddenly painful. No, no, no… 

He didn’t have any weapons on him, wasn’t wearing anything more than his boxers and an old t-shirt. Shit. Every instinct fighting him, he forced himself to relax into the hold, tried to ignore the creeping sensation of disgust that trailed behind every pass of ‘Dean’s’ hands across his back. 

Apprehension continued to climb as he searched desperately for a plan, his mind spinning on nothing. Where the hell was Dean? This wasn’t… Dean’s hands were making his skin crawl; he couldn’t submit anymore. “Dude, personal space?” he finally muttered. It was almost impossible to keep the relief off of his features when ‘Dean’ finally pulled back, and Sam could only hope that the shifter didn’t catch on. “Gonna go splash some water on my face,” he added softly. 

The shifter didn’t stop him from getting up this time, and as soon as he made it to the bathroom he looked around anxiously, hoping some of the bags were in there; he was pretty sure there was a knife in the shaving kit. He wished he dared lock the door behind him. The bathroom was bare except for the aging, grimy-gray towels folded on the back of the toilet. 

Okay… okay… he just needed to find a reason to get into the bags near the door. Bending forward, he flicked the water on and filled his cupped hands before rubbing them over his face. The water was frigid, but at least it helped clear his head a little. 

Grabbing blindly for the topmost towel, he stood up and mopped at his face... and almost jumped out of his skin when he lowered the towel to discover Dean standing right behind him. Solid arms wrapped around him once more, and warm hands rested possessively on Sam’s chest. His brain shut down, unsure whether to try to continue the façade or confront the bastard.

“What’s a’matter, Sammy?” Dean growled threateningly. 

_Fuck that_. Sam broke the hold, whirled around and pushed Dean back against the wall hard enough to cause a loud thump. “Where is he?” Sam demanded harshly, loud enough that his words echoed in the small utilitarian room.

“Where’s who?” Dean replied, looking honestly confused. Except, no, no, Sam was sure it was an act. 

Sam released the creature and surged around it, hoping to make it through the doorway, but it tackled him to the ground as he darted past. Something sharp bit into his neck, and Sam reared back, throwing the creature off. “Where’s my… where’s my brother, you sick fuck?” he yelled as he stumbled backwards toward the bags. 

“Sam, dude, you gotta calm down,” Dean said soothingly, as if Sam was some wild animal that needed to be pacified. Sam watched his brother sit up slowly, calmly. He could see something clenched in Dean’s left hand. 

Not taking his eyes off of the creature, he touched his neck where it still stung from whatever the thing had done to him. He looked at his finger and saw a small streak of blood across the tip. Crap, it had… injected him with something? There was no time. He turned and fumbled one of the bags open, scrambling through it until he came up with a knife. A gun would’ve been better, but he didn’t have time to be choosy. 

Sam turned around to find that the thing wearing his brother’s face hadn’t moved from where it sat on the floor. It was still sprawled out, looking at Sam innocently with its elbows propped up behind it. It had a big, shit-eating grin on its face. 

Not Dean. It was as good as dead.

Sam took a step forward. 

His vision blurred, causing the room to swim in and out of focus for a moment. He stumbled to a stop.

Shaking it off, he growled, “What’d you do to me?”

The creature smirked at him. “Insurance,” it replied, still infuriatingly composed. “You should put that knife down before you hurt yourself.” The room lurched again, and Sam staggered another step forward like a drunken sailor. “Oh,” it added, “and I’d calm down if I were you. The more your blood is pumping through your veins, the faster my cocktail will work.”

The room was spinning, but Sam launched himself at his brother’s look-alike anyway, fury leaving him no other choice. Faster than Sam could process, it rolled out of his way and straddled his back, pinning him to the ground. The knife was out of his hand and tossed to the other side of the room before he even realized he should have been keeping track of it. He felt sluggish, pliant. He fought against the pull of the drug, knowing he needed to get the upper hand before it was too late, but the creature didn’t even seem to notice Sam’s attempts. Fucker was strong.

“Stop fighting me,” Dean commanded irritably. 

The front of Sam’s head felt like it was filled with cotton, the back with iron, and his vision was still swimming in and out of focus, getting worse by the moment, making the room feel like one of those carnival fun houses. 

Dean was trying to pull him up, and Sam gratefully accepted, staggering to his feet. No… _Not Dean…_

He was led into the bathroom and pushed gently to the floor. He looked on dumbly as Dean wrapped his hands around the exposed pipe and tightly handcuffed his wrists together. Too tight; it hurt. He opened his mouth to ask Dean to loosen the metal cuffs, “Dean…” There was something he wanted to say, something he wanted to ask, but he didn’t know what it was. His head was pounding, so he leaned against the porcelain next to him and let the coolness soothe his aching head. 

The bathroom light must’ve been broken at some point; it was more headache-inducing strobe than helpful brightness. Snatches of conversation, doors opening and closing, road noise, things being moved around him, it all faded in and out of his awareness. 

Time passed as Sam let his thoughts float, listlessly trying to make sense of the world around him. 

Gradually, the irritation around his wrists and the pain in his back from his awkward position on the floor started to come more to the forefront of his thoughts. Vaguely, he knew Dean was the one that had left him here, but he couldn’t piece together a reason why. 

“Dean?” he called out softly. He must’ve swallowed glass at some point, because the quiet word grated through the soft tissues of his throat. 

He was so thirsty. 

He started to get to his feet, but was caught by his wrists trapped around the drainpipe of the sink. He fell back down with a loud, boneless thud. 

Dean’s cool hand on his forehead sharpened his awareness once more. “Water?” he whispered.

Dean’s hand stroked soothingly through his hair, a tender caress that somehow left Sam feeling nauseous. A bottle was pressed to Sam’s lips. Water slipped into his mouth, and he latched on to the soft plastic, swallowing greedily, gulping it down as if he’d never get any more ever again.

He tried to grab for the container of precious liquid when Dean pulled it away, he wasn’t finished, needed more, but his hands seemed to be caught on something and all he accomplished was sending shooting flares of pain through his abraded flesh. He whimpered, unable to comprehend the cause of his discomfort. 

“Shhh…” Dean soothed. “I’m gonna release you now, okay?”

“Okay,” Sam whispered. The water had helped; the pain wasn’t quite as bad as it had been, but still, he was thirsty. He needed more. Why wouldn’t Dean give him more? “Dean?”

“It’s really important that you do what I say, or Dean could die. Do you understand that, Sammy?” Dean asked. 

The handcuffs snapped open.

The unfocused panic that had been hovering just below his muddled lethargy reared its head, leaving Sam gasping for breath. “You could die?” Sam asked, staring into Dean’s eyes, begging silently for help. His gaze slipped away. What… Sam looked around for a threat. The walls of the bathroom slid in and out of focus.

“Yes,” Dean replied darkly, pulling Sam to his feet and leading him into the glaring light outside. His eyes burned and he flinched back, crowding into his brother’s close embrace. “But if you do what I say without question, it’ll be okay.”

“Oh,” Sam slurred out groggily, still trying to make sense of the words. “Okay…”

“Now,” Dean said, pushing Sam forward. His hand went to the top of Sam’s head and pushed him back and down, folding him into the back seat of the Impala. “Lie down and get some sleep.”

Unable to come up with a reason not to, Sam shifted around for a comfortable position, and did as he was told. 

~o0O0o~

Something wet splattered against Dean’s head again, jerking him abruptly back to consciousness. He was shivering, sharp spasms rocking through his body hard enough to make his bones ache. Brushing at the sharp bits of stone and small debris that covered his side where he’d managed to curl up awkwardly on the ground only flared the pain in his abraded skin, so he didn’t bother. It’s not like he’d be able to get himself clean with his filthy hands anyway. 

A harsh cough tore its way out of his throat, past his split and bleeding lips. What he wouldn’t give for some fucking ChapStick. 

His eyes were still closed. That was mostly deliberate on his part; he didn’t want to open them, because as long as they stayed closed, he could hold out some hope that his situation had improved. He knew it was stupid, but he couldn’t help his heart being in his throat as he slowly forced his grit-encrusted lids open. Despite his lack of surprise, he almost sobbed when not a speck of light broke the endless stretch of darkness. 

Water splashed down on him again, and he lifted his head, letting the putrid liquid drip into his mouth. His stomach twisted, demanding food. Water was the only thing on the menu, though. He kept his mouth open, laughing at himself as the image of a baby bird waiting to be fed filled his head. Yeah, he was about as helpless. 

It seemed like it didn’t take as long this time to fill his mouth with as much of the filthy water as he could stand. Still long enough that he was forced to take a long drag of air in through his nose. The nauseating stench burned its way down his throat and filled his stomach, effectively killing his hunger. He gagged, spewing all of the water he’d managed to gather down his chest and across the floor. At least the water had been cool against his raw throat. 

A particularly convulsive shiver racked his body, sending him into another fruitless search for something on the ground big enough to use as a tool. There was still nothing. His wrist was still held tightly to the wall, was still sending jagged, nauseating waves of pain through his body every time he moved, was still clearly fucking broken. And Dean was still just as fucked as he had been before he fell asleep.

Except… was there more water on the ground than there had been before? He lifted his heel and banged it down, sending water up into the air with a splash. He laughed out loud, and even he had to admit he sounded a little manic. He leaned forward, and a series of staccato drips danced along the back of his neck. He jerked, the cold almost felt like a hot poker along his skin. _Fuck._

He scooted another centimeter along the wall, ignoring the pain, despite knowing there was no escape from the dripping water that never seemed to need a damn break. Hell, he was never going to be able to stand being in a motel room with a drippy faucet again. Sam was probably going to tease him mercilessly about it, but, fuck, a man deserved to be a little neurotic after something like this… right?

“Sammy?!” The word spilled, unplanned, from his lips. Which, well, it had been planned. Of course it had. He needed to keep calling out for help, right? Just in case…

The pipes around him gave a long, plaintive moan, echoing his misery. At least... he hoped the noise was caused by pipes. Any creature that could make a sound like that was not something he wanted to meet when he was naked and filthy and chained to the wall in the dark. Fear shivered across his back, leaving him with a sense of cold even deeper than before. Fuck. Why did the thing have to leave him naked? Not like he was ashamed of his body or anything. Shit, not like anyone could see him anyway, but… it left him feeling pretty exposed. 

Vulnerable. 

Okay, he needed to stop being such a girl. 

“Sammy?!” he shouted once again, his vocal cords protesting the continued abuse. There hadn’t been so much as a hint of human presence for however long he’d been down in this hell-hole. The cry echoed around and slowly faded away without any reply. Which, well, yeah, again with the not surprising.

Drip… 

Drip… 

Drip… 

He imagined the endless patter against his skin was leaving behind a trail of grooves, wearing him away until he dissolved under the constant barrage. 

Drip… Drip…

Drip… Drip…

Hell, either the water was falling faster, or he was starting to really go insane down here. 

“Sammy?!”

Suddenly he was frantically clawing at the band of metal encasing his wrist, trying to pry his fingers under the restraint, as if that would change anything. There still wasn’t even a millimeter of give. It was tight enough to dig into his skin. He couldn’t feel his hand anymore, but even so, dislocating his thumb to try to pull out of the cuff wasn’t going to do anything but add to his misery. He had to be losing weight… maybe if he lost enough… He laughed a little hysterically. If he was down here that long, he’d be dead. 

He couldn’t feel his hand… meant it was probably tight enough to be affecting his circulation… which meant he could lose it if he wasn’t found soon. 

The thought was enough to circle panic around his chest. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t… “Sammy?!” he screamed again, flinching back from the echoing noise.

Fuck, he had to get out of here. That thing still had his brother. He turned back to the restraint and started clawing at it desperately, fear overwhelming reason long enough to leave him banging his fist against the wall, sucking in breaths fast and furious in an attempt to stave off tears that wouldn’t do anyone a damn bit of good. 

“Sammy…” he whispered, dropping his head back against the wall with a dull thud, letting the exhaustion wear him down enough that he could curl back in on himself and wait for rescue. 

~o0O0o~

Awareness filtered back in slowly. Sam was pretty sure it had been the roar of a fast moving truck that had pulled him from his sleep, but he hadn’t heard any traffic since then, which meant they were probably in some middle of nowhere motel on the side of a road somewhere. His head was pounding out a deep staccato against the inside of his skull. He peeled his sleep-crusted eyes open and peered into the gloom of the room, trying to focus on something, but it only worsened the banging in his head and he quickly shut them again. 

_Fuck me. I don’t even remember the awesome evening we must’ve…_ but, no, that was wrong anyway. This didn’t really feel like a hangover headache. Not really. More spike-like and stronger than anything he’d ever had in the past. If this was the usual result of over-imbibing, he was pretty sure he’d never touch a drop of alcohol again as long as he lived.

The sound of a keyboard clicking finally filtered through his brain, and he muttered a groggy, “Dean?” into the room. 

His muscles filled with sudden, inexplicable tension as he waited for a response. He was desperate to hear his brother’s voice, and simultaneously, inexplicably, terrified of the same. 

The laptop clicked shut with a decisive snap. “It’s about time you woke up, Sammy!” Dean’s too-loud voice boomed out, intensifying the throbbing in Sam’s head. “Get your lazy butt out of bed already. I need coffee. And grease. And salt.”

Something soft hit Sam in the face, blocking what little light there was in the room. He reached up and pulled the cloth away, holding the thing up and peering at it as it swam blearily into focus. After a few moments he was finally able to make out… Dean’s dirty underwear, wadded up in his hand. He tossed it away in disgust. “Dude, seriously?” he moaned in complaint. 

Dean’s soft chuckle was his only response, and then suddenly the blankets were jerked down his body, leaving him in nothing but his boxers, almost completely exposed in the somewhat chilly room. Apparently, he hadn’t even managed to pull a t-shirt on the night before.

“You know what?” Sam grated, “Last week, when I accused you of being five? I think I was aiming too high…” His throat was thrashed, worse than what it would be if this was just a hang-over. He struggled to sit up, trying to think past the turbulence in his brain. He raised a shaking hand up to his throat and pressed into the skin, causing a deep ache to flare violently at his touch. 

_Dean’s hands, curling around his throat, pressing in to kill. No… Not Dean…_

_Not **Dean** … _

_**Fuck**._

He slipped off the bed and immediately into a defensive crouch, almost falling on his ass as his muscles sluggishly tried to decide if they were going to cooperate with him. 

Dean snorted at him. “Throw some clothes on and meet me out in the car. There’s a chicken fried steak at the diner with my name on it.” Dean… _not Dean_ turned and headed towards the door like everything was normal, like Sam wasn’t crouching on the floor in his underwear glaring daggers at a creature that looked just like his brother. 

Sam’s hand shot out as it walked by in a move that should have landed Dean on his ass, except that Sam still wasn’t as coordinated as he should be, and Dean just stopped and looked down at him, unaffected.

“I’d remove your hand, if I were you,” it said calmly.

Sam let go and slowly rose unsteadily to his feet. “Where’s Dean?” Sam growled.

The thing’s lips twitched up slightly. It turned towards Sam slowly, then moved into Sam’s personal space to stand way too close, and looked coolly into Sam’s eyes. “I’m right here, Sam,” he drawled. 

Sam launched himself against it, shoving it forward until its back hit the wall with a thud, his one hand tangled in the creature’s shirt, the other arm pressing hard against the thing’s throat. Fury leaked from him in every harshly panted breath. “Where is he?” Sam yelled, the pain in his head bowing under the force of his rage. He let go of the shirt, pulled its head forward slightly and then slammed it roughly back against the wall.

“If you really want to know, you’d better take your hands off of me…” The threat was clear, but Sam stood frozen, unable to let his anger go enough to allow his muscles to unlock. 

“Now!” the creature snarled.

Sam’s grip sprang open, and he slowly, deliberately, forced himself to take a small step back. “Where is he?” Sam growled out lowly.

It smiled, and fear crawled down Sam’s back in a thick ooze, leaving him nauseous. It clearly thought it had the upper hand. 

_It was probably right._

Sam let it push past him and watched as it moved over to the laptop, pulled up a website, and then motioned for Sam to come over. 

Not without some small trepidation, Sam did as it wanted, and peered at the screen. It was some sort of heat sensitive image, and right in the center was the glowing outline of a person, huddled in on itself, but still, clearly a person. A person with a wrist awkwardly pinned against the wall. A person who was naked and visibly shivering. A person who looked a hell of a lot like his brother.

Sam turned toward the creature murderously, “What the hell did you do to him?” he demanded.

“Sam?” His brother’s voice sounded hopefully from the small laptop speakers, jerking Sam’s attention back to the screen. _Dean could hear him?_

“Dean!” Sam yelled, “Where are you?” 

Dean seemed to startle at Sam’s voice, and he looked around blindly, reaching out a hand to wave awkwardly in front of him. 

“Dean!” Sam braced his hands on either side of the laptop and leaned in close, hoping the… infrared? Thermographic? It didn’t matter. He leaned in even closer, hoping he could make out enough details to find some clue. “Dean, where are you?”

“I don’t know,” Dean replied, his voice strained, desperate sounding. “It’s dark…”

A fist abruptly crashed into the side of Sam’s face, catching Sam off guard and knocking him to the ground. He scrambled up, managed to snatch the computer from the creature’s grasp, but it had already closed the browser, ending whatever brief connection he’d had with Dean. 

Sam tossed the laptop back on the table and drew back his arm, preparing for a punch, but the creature started laughing lowly, stilling Sam’s motion. 

“What do you want?” Sam demanded. He lowered his shaking hand, desperate to think past the pain in his head. Violence might give him satisfaction, but it wouldn’t give him Dean. 

The creature reached out and stroked a hand down the side of Sam’s face, making him take an uncomfortable step back. “You don’t appreciate him,” it said softly.

“Yeah?” Sam replied wearily. “You said that before. You’re wrong.”

“Really? Well, I don’t think so, and neither, incidentally, does Dean, but… just for fun, I’m going to give you a chance to prove it.”

Fear trickled down his spine like needles. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

The creature smiled Dean’s smile, and it felt like a gut punch. “You were out a long time thanks to those drugs I gave you. Plenty long enough for me to secure your brother where he’ll never be found. Don’t worry, I left him water. _Plenty_ of water,” it paused, laughing lowly to itself at some private joke before continuing cheerfully, “but, you know, no food, so I figure he’s got, maybe, a couple of weeks, tops, before he starves to death. Crappy way to go, I know, but I did what I had to do, you know?” 

Sam’s stomach sickened, and he took another step back, needing some distance. It followed him, forcing him back until his legs hit the bed and he sat down heavily. Keeping its gaze locked on Sam’s it slowly leaned down and put its hands on his shoulders with a tight grip. Dean’s pendent still hung from the thing’s neck, swinging in small, mesmerizing circles. 

Sam forced his gaze away from the familiar talisman to meet the thing’s eyes. “You’re insane,” Sam whispered.

“Maybe,” it snapped back angrily, not releasing Sam’s shoulders, its face way too close. “So here’s the offer I have for you. I’m going to step into his life, do the things he does, and little brother is going to prove how much he cares. If you manage to convince me in time that he’s right to put so much faith in you, I’ll tell you where he is and you can go rescue him, happy tears all around if you make it in time. But. If you don’t convince me…” it paused, looking at Sam speculatively… hungrily…

Sam had to swallow the sudden surge of terror the unnerving look stirred up so he could keep breathing. 

“Well,” it continued with a slight upturn of its lips, “then I become the hunter that I am, and you become my next prey. Dean’s dead whether I succeed in that or not.” Dean’s usual teasing expression dropped back over the thing’s features. “So, what’d you say, Sammy? Do we play for Dean’s life, or do I take you out right now?”

Sam’s eyes wandered to the laptop, wondering if he could bring the website back up, somehow use it to find Dean’s location. The spike that was still trying to pulverize his brain was making him nauseous.

The creature gave a quiet laugh. “You may think you’re good at computers, but you aren’t as good as the poor schmuck I copied in order to set up Dean’s little hide-away. I left your brother naked as a jaybird – there’s nothing on him to track. And think about it, Sam. I’ve been around for a long time. I have dozens of lairs all across the country, and they aren’t all in the sewers. You don’t even have a clue where to start looking without my help.”

Sam closed his eyes and tried to think past the panic. “How do I know you’ll tell me where he is even if I play your stupid game?” he muttered, trying to stall for time.

“You don’t. No guarantees there, Sammy, but it’s the only hope you’ve got, and I can promise you that if you don’t play, your brother’s as good as dead.” 

He needed backup, but there was no one – not unless Dad wasn’t really missing, if he was actually getting his voicemail... Sam needed to get free from the creature long enough to leave a message. He could play the creature’s game as long as he knew someone was working the other side of the case. 

“Tick tock, Sam…” the creature breathed threateningly.

Sam’s eyes snapped open. “Yeah, okay. I’ll play,” he scowled. 

“Good!” the creature responded cheerfully. All sense of otherness drained away, and it was just Dean standing in front of him once more. 

“Let’s go get food. I’m starved,” it said, moving to the door.

Sam watched it walk out, and it was only few moments later that he managed to make himself get up, throw on some clothes, and follow.


	2. Chapter 2

“Alright, thank you for your time.” Sam hung up the phone, but his hand lingered on the handset, clutching it hard enough to make it creak. The creature had let Sam continue the search for their dad as if it had nothing to fear. Apparently, it was right. He slammed his fist against the side of the booth, allowing the pain to ease back a little of his guilt. Dean needed him in the goddamned game, and he was failing spectacularly.

He shoved away and moved back over to the table where the creature was watching him, a stupid smile playing over its features as it worked on the laptop. “Your, uh, half-caf double vanilla latte is gettin’ cold over here, Francis.”

“Bite me.” It wasn’t Dean, but the brotherly response slipped out on autopilot. Sam looked away, feeling vaguely ashamed.

The creature chuckled slightly and reached over, covering Sam’s hand with its own. Sam started to jerk away, but the grip tightened warningly, and Sam froze, his eyes locked on the thing’s grip. An awkward moment passed, and then the creature abruptly patted his hand and pulled away. “So, anything?”

Sam looked at the creature. He wanted to grab it and slam its fucking head into the table over and over again until it started talking. Instead, he clenched his jaw and bit out, “I had ‘em check the FBI’s Missing Persons databank. No John Does fitting Dad’s description. I even ran his plates for traffic violations.”

“Sam, I’m tellin’ ya, I don’t think Dad wants to be found.”

Sam sucked in a breath, affronted by its familiarity, and shot a glare at the creature. Its eyes suddenly narrowed at him. “Play your part, Sammy,” it growled. “You don’t want me to get bored.”

Their eyes locked, and Sam had to force himself to back down, to look away.

“Check this out,” The creature said cheerfully, pulling Sam’s attention back with a jerk. It slid the laptop around so that Sam could see what was on the screen. His heart leapt in his chest, hoping against hope that he’d get another glimpse of Dean, some evidence that his brother was still out there, still alive, but all that was on the screen was a bunch of text.

“It’s a news item out of Planes Courier,” it continued animatedly. “Ankeny, Iowa. It’s only about a hundred miles from here.”

“So?” Sam muttered, wondering what it was getting at.

The creature sighed heavily and pulled the laptop back and began reading aloud. “Authorities are unable to provide a realistic description of the killer. The sole eyewitness… is quoted as saying the _attacker was invisible_. Could be something interesting.”

Panic clutched at Sam; the thought of leaving his brother behind in that shit hole, wherever it was, while he played at solving some stupid case was enough to leave him flushed with dread. “Or it could be nothing at all,” he answered quickly. “One freaked out witness who didn’t see anything? Doesn’t mean it’s the Invisible Man.”

“But what if it is?” the creature volleyed straight back. “Dad would check it out.”

Sam was out of his chair, hands buried in the creature’s shirt, before his brain could quite catch up with his anger. “You don’t fucking know _anything_ about my dad,” he growled.

“Take your hands off of me,” it growled slowly. “People are staring.”

Sam glanced around and found that everyone in the small coffee shop patio had stopped and were looking at the two of them with alarm. He jerked back from the creature and stumbled against the table, almost losing his balance.

The creature was right behind him, standing up and announcing, “Sorry, folks. My brother’s got a few anger management issues to sort out…” It whistled and made a little circle motion at the side of its head. “We’ll just be on our way.”

Grabbing their stuff in one hand, and Sam with the other, it dragged him away from the area. As soon as they were clear it whispered, almost eagerly, “You’re gonna pay for that.”

~o0O0o~

As soon as they got into the car, the creature turned on Dean’s music and started singing loudly, acting as if nothing had happened. Sam was left feeling jumpy and off kilter, waiting for the other shoe to drop. It didn’t let up though, occasionally shoving Sam in his side and trying to get him to sing along. Of course, all it accomplished was making Sam want to sink through the floorboards, but if anything, it only seemed amused by Sam’s reaction.

They drove pretty much straight to the frat house that had been mentioned in the article, not even stopping to find a motel room and dump their stuff first. Sam practically leapt for freedom before the car was even in park, eager to get some air that wasn’t contaminated by his tormentor, then trailed along reluctantly when it went over to talk to some frat boys.

The guys were unusually stupid for college students. They barely batted an eye when Dean announced that they were moving in from out of state, and just pointed the serial killer posing as his brother towards the house.

This was Iowa, not Stanford, but still, it seemed like the college ought to have some standards, he thought uncharitably.

They wandered through the house, the creature continuing to lead the way, until it suddenly steered them into an open room where a shirtless guy was painting himself purple.

“Who are you?” the kid asked, pausing his… art project.

“We’re your new roommates,” the creature announced cheerfully.

The guy made a very slight shrug and held the brush and paint can out. “Do me a favor? Get my back. Big game today.”

The creature held its hands up, skirting around to the chair on the other side of the room. “He’s the artist,” it said, gesturing toward Sam. “Things he can do with a brush.”

Sam paused, sending a glare towards the creature even as the brush and can were shoved into his hands. Sam gingerly started smearing more paint on the guy’s back as Dean sat down, grabbing a magazine casually and glancing at the label before adding, “So, Murph. Is it true?”

“What?” the guy asked, puzzled.

“We heard one of the guys around here got killed last week.”

The guy immediately slumped in on himself sadly. “Yeah.”

Despite his reluctance to being here, Sam found himself asking softly, “What happened?”

“They’re saying some psycho with a knife. Maybe a drifter passing through. Rich was a good guy.”

Sam glanced nervously over at the creature that was looking at them both eagerly, but the guy still seemed oblivious. It looked at Sam and made an encouraging motion with its head, a clear signal to keep going. “Rich, he was with somebody?”

“Not just somebody. Lori Sorensen.”

“Who’s Lori Sorensen?” Something in the creature’s tone caused Sam to look at it in alarm, but it immediately deflected, “You missed a spot. Just down there, low on the back.”

Irritated, Sam went back to painting the guy.

“Lori’s a freshman. She’s a local. Super hot. And get this: she’s a reverend’s daughter.”

The creature made a low whistling sound and asked, “So, the wild, rebellious, _Footloose_ kind of reverend’s daughter, or the sweet, innocent and virginal kind of reverend’s daughter?”

Sam glanced over and felt sick – the creature had Dean’s horn-dog lascivious look on its face, and the purple guy laughed knowingly.

“Oh, she’s the sweet, innocent type, alright. Rich was after her for months before he finally got her to say yes.”

The creature stood and grabbed the paintbrush from Sam. Walking around to stand in front of the guy, it ran the brush over his chest, gliding it lightly, deliberately, over one of his nipples. Murphy swallowed uncomfortably and took a step back, almost running into Sam. The creature grinned. “You wouldn’t happen to know which church, would ya?” it asked lowly, almost purring.

“S… Saint Mary’s,” The guy stuttered out.

“Thanks, man,” it replied cheerfully, shoving the brush into the can. “Alright, Sam, let’s go.”  
~o0O0o~

“After what Lori told us, don’t you think we should be heading to the library?” Sam muttered as the creature pulled into a parking space in front of a run-down no-tell motel a fair distance from the campus. It’d been silent on the way there, brooding on something. Sam couldn’t even begin to follow its mood swings.

“So,” the creature said as it turned off the engine and cast Sam a side-long glance, “you believe her?”

“I do.”

“Yeah, I think she’s hot, too,” it grinned.

“No, man,” Sam sputtered, “there’s something in her…” His voice trailed off. This wasn’t Dean. He didn’t have to defend himself. There was something honest, something innocent about the girl, and the way Dean had… the way the creature had looked at her… it left him chilled. The sooner they solved this case, the sooner he could get the creature the hell away from here. “She heard scratching on the roof. Found the bloody body suspended upside down over the car.”

“Wait, the body was suspended? That sounds like the…”

Sam cut it off tiredly, “Yeah, I know, the Hook Man legend.”

“That’s one of the most famous urban legends ever,” it said, its voice filled with anticipation. “You don’t think we’re dealing with the Hook Man?”

“Every urban legend has its source, a place where it all began,” Sam replied, letting the familiar puzzle of a case soothe his frayed nerves.

“Yeah, but what about the phantom scratches and the tire punctures and the invisible killer?”

“Well, maybe the Hook Man isn’t a man at all. What if it’s some kind of spirit?”

“Huh,” the creature muttered softly, getting out of the car.

Sam followed, circling the car to stand closer to the thing. “De…” He stuttered to a stop, disconcerted by his almost slip. “W… we should head to the library. Do a little research.”

The creature looked at him levelly for a moment, then moved in close, crowding Sam up against the car until their bodies were pressed close. It grabbed Sam’s face harshly and forced their eyes to meet, so close Sam could feel the things breath against his lip. Its gaze dropped to Sam’s lips, a small smile playing over its own. “You almost called me Dean.”

Sam started to jerk away, but its fingers tightened painfully on his jaw, and sudden fear kept him rooted to the spot. “You almost called me _Dean_ ,” it repeated softly. “I like that. Do it. Call me Dean. I want to hear you say it.”

“Let me go you fucking pervert,” Sam growled.

“Sam,” the creature replied patiently, “Call me Dean, or I think I might have to go visit that sweet little girl… but maybe with a different face… maybe… maybe with your face.I think she liked you.”

Sam stiffened, horror leaving him cold and aching. “No.” The denial slipped from his lips unasked. He closed his eyes. The creature was a homicidal killer. Sam should kill it. He should kill it now. Letting the thing live was only putting innocent people in danger. But then Dean… He couldn’t move, his indecision playing on his nerves and leaving him frozen.

It shifted slightly closer, and Sam could feel its lips tickle against his cheek. His eyes snapped open of their own volition, his legs shaking so bad he wondered if they were going to keep supporting him. The heavy smell of onions from the hamburger the thing had inhaled earlier sank down into his stomach, leaving him ill.

“Let me explain the rules to you. One. More. Time,” it growled. “You do not try to escape or harm me, because if you do, your brother dies in the dank hole I left him in, alone and forgotten and thinking you don’t really give a shit about him, that you’d leave him again in a heartbeat if you had the chance to get your old life back.

“You do what I say, when I say, because otherwise your brother’s fate will be the same as if you’d fought back in the beginning. You do what I say, when I say, because if nothing else, I stand by my word, and in a week I _will_ tell you where your brother is. It’s your only chance to get him back, Sammy. I know you have no idea where to start looking, and you won’t find any trace of him without me.

“You do what I say, when I say, because otherwise? I’ll get angry, and if I get angry, I _promise you_ I will go after the people that you care about the most, and leave you with nothing but pain for comfort.” It moved slightly back and then pressed its lips against Sam’s in a mockery of a kiss. Sam arched back until his head hit the roof of the Impala, but it just followed, forcing the contact. “Say it, Sammy,” the creature growled against his lips. “Call me Dean. Say it.”

“Stop it,” Sam whispered helplessly.

“Stop it, what?” Its tongue snuck out, licking wetly against the seam of Sam’s tightly closed lips.

Sam jerked his head free of the things hand and looked away, quickly muttering, “Stop it, Dean. Please. Just stop.”

It let Sam go abruptly, pulling back with a smile and patting him on the cheek. “Good boy. You keep calling me that, as often as you can, because if I don’t think that name is coming out of your mouth enough, I will be going after that little girl. Got it?”

“Yeah,” Sam replied, wiping an angry hand across his mouth to get rid of the wet. “Yeah, _Dean_. You made your point. Leave the girl alone.”

“That, I’m afraid, lies on you. Taking me out now would definitely save the girl, you know, but it would condemn your brother. You know your brother would tell you to sacrifice him to save her. He’d tell you to take me out now. So, letting me live? That’s your choice. Your decision. If she gets hurt, you’re going to have to live with that knowledge for the rest of your pathetic life.”

“I get it, Dean,” Sam snapped. He hated that it was probably right about what Dean would say, hated that Dean had so little sense of self-worth sometimes. And he hated that this sick fuck was crawling around in Dean’s psyche, digging at things Dean would rather keep private. It was a violation, and it made Sam’s skin crawl to have to watch it in silence.

“Good.” The cheerful brother routine was suddenly back. “So, you go do your research. Back at the house, I heard a rumor about a little sorority party. Think I’ll stop by to do a little researching of my own. You can walk to the library – the air will do you good, maybe help you get your priorities back in order. Meet you back here in a few hours.”

The creature popped a room key over to Sam, which he caught easily, then swung itself back into the Impala and tore out of the parking lot, leaving Sam alone.

~o0O0o~

“’Lo?”

“Hi, Bobby, it’s me, um, Sam Winchester. Do you re…”

“Sam?” Bobby interrupted. “Haven’t heard your voice in years. Thought you got out of the hunt?”

“Yeah, I got dragged back in. Listen, I’m sorry to bother you - Dean told me you guys parted on bad terms, but, Dad’s missing in action, and Dean’s in trouble. I’m in over my head here, and I’m desperate for someone to back me up.” Panic was slurring Sam’s words as he stumbled over them in his haste to get them out. If Bobby refused to help…

“Calm down and take a breath, boy. What’s wrong with Dean?”

“We ran into some trouble with a shifter in St. Louis. Well, we lost, actually. It took Dean and left him trapped somewhere. Somewhere dark, but I don’t really know much else. It showed me an image of him, heat sensitive, but I can’t get the connection back, I tried, but... It’s been making… I mean… I’m keeping it distracted – it seems to want to play at being my brother,” Sam laughed self-consciously, not quite able to give voice to the thing’s obsession. “But I can’t keep it out of the way and look for Dean at the same time. I need some backup, Bobby…” Sam trailed off, his unhappiness and desperation audible even to his own ears.

“Okay, okay. Don’t worry, I can help you boys out,” Bobby replied immediately. “But, I’m gonna need a little more intel. Can you send me what you were able to come up with on the feed? I’ve got a guy that can look into it. Meantime, I can drive out to St. Louis, see what I can dig up. You know how to kill the creature?”

“Yeah, but I’m hoping if I play along, it might give up Dean’s location. We don’t exactly have a lot of clues, and it claims it’s going to tell me where he is if I humor it.”

“Okay. Well, why don’t you start at the beginning? Tell me everything you can remember about what went down in St. Louis.”

~o0O0o~

Sam hung up the phone, feeling at least a little bit better. At a minimum, someone else was looking for Dean while he killed time on this latest hunt. He wasn’t quite clear on what had caused the fall out, but he knew his dad had completely trusted Bobby when Sam was growing up. Bobby was good. He couldn’t think of anyone better, after Dean and his Dad.

Of course, the fact that the shifter was totally comfortable with leaving Sam on his own while it went out to ogle women in his brother’s skin didn’t bode well for Bobby’s chances of success.

He walked to the library feeling itchy in his skin. Somehow, calling Bobby had actually left him feeling more lonely and lost than before. He kept seeing Jess in every slender blonde he saw at the library, and it was becoming painfully obvious to him that Dean was about the only thing that had been keeping him sane these last few months.

It was late by the time he walked back to the motel, but the room was dark. He’d still managed to beat the creature back. He thought about calling it with the information he’d found at the library, but the thought of hearing his brother’s voice on the phone made his heart ache in his chest. He clicked on the TV, managing to get a staticky local newscast to come in, and collapsed wearily onto the bed.

He was half-way asleep when the words from the set snatched him suddenly back to wakefulness. Scrambling up from under the covers he’d eventually thrown over himself, he edged closer to try to make out the picture just a little better. “…body has been identified as Murphy Robinson, a 19 year old college student studying pre-law. This makes the second violent attack on a local student in less than a week, and begs the question, do we have a serial killer in our midst? We’ll be keeping you up to date with up to the minute information as the case progresses, but first, let’s have a word from our sponsor…”

Holy crap, Murphy was the purple guy from the frat house. Feeling like he was drowning, Sam reached out and turned off the overly cheery music that was suddenly, and very inappropriately, pouring out of the TV. It had to be a coincidence, right? The painted guy had known Lori, sort of, but that shouldn’t have been enough… the connection just had to be deeper than they’d realized, and somehow the guy’d managed to attract the Hook Man’s attention. He snatched up his phone, intending to call the police station and maybe get them to tell him the location of the latest death.

Except… he paused, staring at the phone. It had to be Nine Mile road, right? That’s where the first murder had taken place.

Fuck the creature for taking off with the car. He couldn’t exactly call a cab to take him to a murder site…

Suddenly, the door slammed open, sending Sam scrambling off the bed in alarm. “Howdy, Sammy!” the creature said cheerfully, moving directly into his space and slapping him on the back hard enough to make him flinch. It moved into the bathroom, not bothering to shut the door before doing its business with a loud, satisfied sigh.

Sam waited until he heard the toilet flush and the water turn on. He needed to… they needed to… he swallowed hard, the name catching in his throat. “Dean!” He finally managed to force out. Swallowing the bitterness down, wincing against the small betrayal, he forced himself to keep going, “There’s been a second murder. We need to head over to Nine Mile road.”

It stuck its head out of the bathroom, mouth filled with toothpaste as it brushed its teeth vigorously. “Tired…” the thing mumbled around the brush. “Long day. Gonna go to bed.”

It ducked back into the bathroom and Sam got up to follow it, watching stupidly as it spit the bubbles into the sink. “I thought…”

“No need, Sammy,” it cut him off cheerfully. “I already know what happened.”

Sam went still. “What?”

Dean swished some water in his mouth and spit it out, then calmly wiped – its… _its_ mouth dry on the grungy white towel folded on the narrow counter. It spun around suddenly, and Sam expected it to just push past him, but it abruptly paused by his shoulder instead, grabbing him hard enough for its fingers to press painfully into his flesh. It leaned in close, its cheek almost touching Sam’s and its breath tickling the hair on the back of his neck.

Sam’s breath hitched in, and he couldn’t seem to let it out again.

After a moment, it whispered lowly, “I already know what happened, Sam, because I’m the one that took that boy apart piece… by… little… tiny… piece… I told you back at the coffee shop that you were gonna pay for your willfulness. See to it that it doesn’t happen again.”

The creature abruptly released him and slapped Sam on the ass as it finished moving past. Sam jumped, and then turned, unable to keep from tracking the creature’s movements with his eyes. It kicked its clothes off until it was in nothing but its boxers and flopped heavily onto the closest bed, yawning obscenely loudly. “Go to bed, Sam. And be good. Maybe tomorrow I’ll give you another glimpse of your brother.”

Sam slid down the wall next to the bathroom, his legs suddenly unwilling to support him. He didn’t move for a long time.

~o0O0o~

“Sammy?” Dean’s voice scraped from his throat, barely more than a whisper. He’d yelled himself hoarse, but he didn’t seem to be able to stop, the desperate cry forcing itself past his lips every few minutes. At least, he suspected it was every few minutes. Time was amazingly hard to track while pinned naked to a wall in the freezing dark. He had no idea how long he’d actually been down here… his sense of the passage of time was probably pretty distorted at this point.

His body spasmed painfully once again, jerking on his broken wrist that was still encased in the manacle on the wall, and making the pool of water he now sat in splash loudly around him. He rode out the tremors, there was nothing else he could do. At least his wrist had stopped hurting a while ago. Which… yeah, okay, that probably wasn’t such a good thing, but, whatever. The spasm faded away, leaving him numb, and he curled into himself a little bit tighter, pressing his head against his knees and letting the small cascade of water flow over the back of his neck rather than on his face.

Somehow the back of his neck was more tolerable than over his head. He could pretend it was just a shower. A very long… very fucking cold… shower. That never stopped. Another spasm made him cry out in frustration, the small wrecked sound somehow making him feel even more helpless, more hopeless, than the tremors and weakness in his body.

“Sammy?”

He hadn’t heard his brother’s voice since that one time when he thought Sam had found him. It had sounded like Sam was here. Except… he’d asked where Dean was, and that didn’t make a whole lot of sense if he was here, did it? And then the voice had just… stopped, and no matter how much Dean had screamed afterward, he’d heard nothing else. Didn’t stop him from straining his hearing in between his shouts, from jumping at every little sound that might possibly be a voice.

Another spasm took him, and this one passed without a sound of complaint from Dean. He let himself feel a moment of pride over his ability to keep it in. It was a sign of strength to keep your cries inside during torture. He was sure he’d heard that somewhere. His silence had nothing whatsoever to do with Dean’s hopeless numbness over his unending predicament. Nothing at all.

“Thought I told you to go to bed?” A male voice, familiar, and yet not, echoed loudly through the room.

“Hello?!” Dean shouted as loudly as he could. Please… please… please let this be help.

“What?”

The word made Dean jerk. He’d know that voice anywhere. Sam sounded groggy, like he’d just woken up, which… made no sense… and hardly mattered. “Sam?!” he shouted.

The other person yawned loudly, obnoxiously, then said gruffly, “I told you to go to bed. The floor is not bed. You aren’t going to be able to back me up tomorrow if you don’t get some sleep.”

The fuck? This wasn’t here. Sam wasn’t here, this was just being mic’d in from somewhere… why…

“I’m sorry.” Dean could hear the fear in Sam’s voice, and there was a slight pause before, “Dean,” was added at the end.

Oh, fuck no…

Rage filled him, made his head throb anew. “Leave my brother alone, you fucker!” he shouted into the darkness. The shifter still had Sam, and that was _his_ voice. He began his feeble struggles anew, splashing water everywhere, and yelling out his fury in a wordless scream. A suddenly thought locked his muscles in place and terror ripped through him; what if the water hit the speaker, and Dean lost his only connection to his brother and that, that… Stepford-clone wannabe, which… Sam must know? Sam had to know that wasn’t really Dean? Right? _Right?_

His heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. Please, please, please…

“What? No! I mean, Dean, I’m going to bed now. Okay. It was… I didn’t… I’m going to bed now, okay Dean?” Apparently Dean had missed whatever the creature had said when he’d yelled, but he didn’t miss the fear in Sam’s reply.

“That’s fine, Sammy,” the creature responded condescendingly, “but I told you, over here. Before I get bored and decide to visit that pretty little girl…”

“No!” Sam yelped, making Dean wince. What the fuck? “Fine. I’m… Fine, you win, Dean. See? You win,” Sam stuttered out. The kid sounded like he was trying to talk down a madman. The loud creak of an old bed being laid down on echoed through the sewer, and Dean felt a moment of longing for the simple comfort of an old motel bed slam into him so hard his eyes teared up, followed almost immediately by a series of tremors that left him reeling and senseless.

There was nothing but silence when he finally felt his muscles standing down, and he cried out once more for Sam, desperate to know what that sick fuck was doing to his brother.

He tensed, sitting there in his pool of dirty water, waiting for the slightest hint that the tenuous connection he’d had hadn’t been severed already.

“What? What are you doing?” Sam’s voice suddenly whispered through the darkness.

Silence.

Then suddenly, “Dean, stop, please.”

The whispered words froze Dean colder than the water ever could.

~o0O0o~

Panic crawled over Sam’s skin, urging him toward flight, and he was trembling with the effort it was taking to continue to just lay there. The creature was wrapped around him, spooned behind Sam, and he could feel its erection pressed against his ass despite the small protection of the sweat pants he’d slipped on before lying down. One of its hands slipped under his t-shirt and slid up his stomach, coming to rest over his chest possessively.

“What? What are you doing?” Sam whispered, hating the fear he could hear in his unsteady words. He could stop this. He could… but if it got away, there’d be more death on his hands, and if it didn’t… Dean…

It didn’t reply, its hands circled over his chest, teasing one of his nipples, pulling on it till Sam could feel it start to harden and he couldn’t keep the words in anymore. “Dean, stop, please.”

The motion paused for a moment, and then the thing chuckled cruelly in his ear. “This is what Dean wants, you know, when he’s lying here in the middle of the night, unable to sleep. What he’s always wanted.”

A harsh burst of laughter forced itself past Sam’s lips. “Now I know you’re a lying sack of shit.”

“Oh, Sammy,” it whispered sadly, hugging him tighter, “Why do you think Dean was so mad at you when you went away to college, huh? That’s not normal, that kind of attachment. Not for one sibling to another. Why were the phone calls, traded back and forth for almost two years, so awkward you finally had to stop taking them?”

Sam pulled out of its grip and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Fuck you. I stopped calling because I couldn’t take the uncertainty of not knowing if my brother or my father was dead. Every time there was a delay in a call, or I couldn’t reach them, I thought…” He paused, wrestling down the old pain. “If I wasn’t expecting the call, at least I could pretend... That was my fault, my weakness, not Dean’s.”

“I wanted you, Sammy. I wanted you in ways no brother ever should. I was relieved when you stopped calling, stopped answering. I thought maybe I’d finally be able to get over you, but that never happened.”

Sam wanted to hit the sick creature until it couldn’t speak anymore, but fear for Dean held his hand, barely. “He’s my brother! He never would have…”

“I didn’t say he would, I said he _wanted_ to. Big difference. I’m just here to make sure Dean finally gets what he wants.”

Sam stood up and turned, looking down at the creature with disgust. “Well he sure as shit doesn’t want some creature making passes at his brother while it’s wearing his face!” He turned away, moving jerkily forward. He couldn’t do this, couldn’t be here anymore.

He was all the way to the door before his brother’s cold, alien voice stopped him. “Unless you are prepared to kill me right now, I would not walk out that door. There’s no telling what I might take it into my head to do, no telling who I might decide to hurt.”

Sam slammed his fist against the door. He was almost disappointed when he didn’t hear anything break. He couldn’t play this creature’s sick game anymore. Tomorrow, he’d call Bobby back, get someone here, and they’d take the creature out. They’d torture it until it gave Dean up and then he’d make sure that it never breathed again. The thought of torture made him sick, but he’d do what he had to do. Damn it! This is what he should have done at the beginning. Then that poor kid would still be alive.

He punched the door again, but then Dean’s hand was wrapping around his own, pressing its body against his own and stilling him against the door. “I never had anyone else, you know,” it whispered. “Growing up like we did. We never stayed anywhere long enough for me to get attached to anyone. It was you and me outside of the world, and the rules didn’t really matter for us. Can you really blame me for falling in love with you?”

“Stop it!” Sam barked.

“I was planning to take this slow, but Dean’s running out of time, and I need to feel…”

Sam bucked against the creature, prepared to throw it off, his anger burning so hot he almost missed the sting of something small and sharp pressing into his neck. He managed to get enough room between it and the door to slip to the side, but he already knew it was too late. He landed on his ass, still managed to tumble into a defensive crouch despite the trickle of blood he could feel on the side of his neck. He had to get out the door, get away before the poison set in and left him helpless again.He could do it. The creature had backed away. He figured if he moved fast enough, he had just enough time to get out the door. It was dark out, and, thanks to his extra inches, he could more than likely outrun the creature enough to find a place to hide. He could get away.

Except, he didn’t think Dean could afford for him to let its whispered comment go unchallenged. “What… what did you mean by Dean’s running out of time?”

It smiled slightly. “The water’s running just a bit faster than I actually intended when I broke the pipe,” it admitted slowly. “No plan ever goes completely perfectly, you know? But as hitches go, this one’s not that big. Don’t worry too much, he should make it at least another couple of days…”

Rage, a white hot sear bright enough to scorch his soul, sent Sam hurtling himself at the creature before he could reason himself out of it. He intended to take it out, but he wasn’t quite a match for a determined Dean on a good day, and Sam was pretty sure the creature had a bit of supernatural strength on its side as well. He managed to get a couple good strikes in, but it still wasn’t even close to enough, and it wasn’t all that long before the thing had him pinned on the floor.

“Say uncle!” it taunted cheerfully.

Sam tried to surge up, unable to think of anything but escape at any cost, but the hold was solid, and he cried out when he felt his shoulder pop and slip out of joint.

“Oh, that must’ve hurt,” Dean exclaimed. “You ready to stand down yet, big boy?”

“Fuck you,” Sam muttered into the carpet.

“You’ll be okay. The muscle relaxants ought to be kicking in soon. It ought to be fairly easy to pop the joint back into place once that happens.”

Fuck, _fuck…_ directly fighting back wasn’t getting him anywhere. Counter to every instinct he had, he forced himself to still, to let his muscles relax, hoping the creature would drop its hold long enough for Sam to make another bid for freedom before it was too late. The creature didn’t seem to notice his efforts, though.

The seconds crept by...

He could call for help, but the civilian who responded would probably just end up dead. He was running out of options, though. He felt so stupid, allowing things to get this far. So much for being the smarter brother; all of his best efforts hadn’t gotten him anywhere. Dean would have handled this better, he was sure of that.

It certainly picked the right brother to copy.

Its breath ghosted over his neck, and Dean’s pendant kept skipping gently across his back as the creature moved, sending chills skittering across his skin. He shifted uncomfortably, and a soft moan accompanied the spasm of pain that radiated out from his injured shoulder.

“I love you so much, Sam. I just never knew how to tell you that, you know?”

Its lips pressed wetly against his skin, moving down his back and leaving behind a trail of slime. Sam twitched, wanting to wipe it off, but his arms felt lethargic and unresponsive.

“Good, good,” Dean muttered. “The drugs are starting to kick in, finally.” Dean… it… shifted, putting firm pressure on his back to hold him in place... and then pain slammed into him bad enough to make his eyes water profusely. He felt the joint slip back into place, which was a relief, but it didn’t do anything to stop the sharp ache in his stretched tendons.

Dean got off of him and moved somewhere else in the room.

 _I should get up_ , he thought, though nothing in his body responded to the silent command. He drifted for a little while, he wasn’t sure how long, letting the pain wash over him in waves.

He was startled when Dean suddenly pulled him up by his good arm and awkwardly maneuvered him over to one of the beds. The bedspread and blankets were already pulled back, which was good, ‘cause Sam wasn’t sure he could have handled doing that himself. “Thanks, Dean,” he muttered into the pillow as he settled with a soft sigh.

Dean crawled onto the bed next to him and began stripping off Sam’s clothes. Sam suddenly found himself trying to crawl away, fear burning its way through his lungs and making it hard to breathe. He couldn’t quite get his arms and legs to cooperate, though, and he only succeeded in flopping against the bed like a dying fish. “Please, don’t, please,” he muttered helplessly into the pillow, drool mixing helplessly into the hopeless words.

“Shhh…” Dean soothed. “I need to show you how good this can be, Sammy. It’s going to be so good, I promise.” He… it… the thing flipped Sam over, and Sam flinched away from his brother’s face. He didn’t want to see, didn’t want to know. It leaned in and took Sam’s mouth with its own, easily parting his lips and moaning into his mouth as it licked and explored. When it finally pulled back, it whispered, “God, Sam, love you so much,” before licking down his chin and nuzzling against his neck.

The boxers it had been wearing had disappeared at some point when Sam wasn’t paying attention, and its hard, leaking dick was dragging against Sam’s skin unpleasantly. It kept kissing and nibbling as it moved down his body, and through it all, he could only lie there helplessly and let it happen. “Please, please stop,” he finally whispered. Dean’s teeth sank into his skin then, biting harshly enough that Sam cried out, though his voice sounded quiet and feeble. Dean ignored him, kept worrying at the skin until Sam felt it break, and warm liquid began dripping down his side.

A sharp slap stung against his skin and he opened his eyes. Dean had pulled back and was looking at him. There was blood on his… on _its_ face. It smiled, and suddenly it was moving away.

“Thank you,” Sam whispered to whatever gods were listening.

It was back a moment later, crushing Sam’s moment of hope with slick hands that slid over his skin, lower, and lower, until they were moving over his uninterested dick. Dean stalled there, stroking his dick over and over, until it finally huffed in frustration and moved on, slipping behind his balls. That sparked a surge of pleasure, and he cried out, soft and low and wanton. “Stop, fuck, just stop, please,” Sam begged. It wasn’t listening though. The hands slipped lower, into his crack and against his hole. The intent was clear. Sam had lost any control he had over his body’s responses. He wasn’t going to be able to stop it.

“Sammy,” Dean whispered against his ear. “God, I’ve wanted you like this so bad. Wanted you forever…”

“Fuck you,” Sam mumbled out, his slurred, hate-filled words the only real protest he could muster.

The finger circling him plunged in easily; Sam’s muscles were still lax from the drugs and unable to really put up much of a fight. “Love you, Sammy,” Dean whispered.

Sam winced away from the words more than the physical pain of penetration.

A second finger added to the first, pushing in and out. It felt weird, foreign. Unlike anything Sam had ever imagined, not that he had spent a lot of time thinking about what this would feel like but… a third finger joined the others, and, muscle relaxants or not, it was too much, too fast, and the pain was like a skewer piercing him from the inside.

“Stop,” he whispered again, like it would do any good.

Dean shifted around, pulling Sam’s legs up and leaving him completely exposed. Dean moved over him, the solid weight pinning Sam to the bed so he couldn’t move, and his eyes couldn’t help but track on the pendant that was slowly swinging from Dean’s neck. Dean hovered there for a moment, staring at him. “You with me, Sammy?” Dean whispered.

Sam could feel the wet sliding down the sides of his face. “Don’t,” he begged with his voice, with his eyes, with everything that he was.

“Mine!” Dean yelled as he pushed inside, sudden and violent.

Sam found enough energy to push his hands weakly against Dean’s chest. He managed to tangle his fingers around the pendant’s cord and pulled it as tight as he could. It didn’t do any good. Dean didn’t even seem to notice his weak struggles and started pushing in and out of his body relentlessly. The brutal pace of Dean’s snapping hips sent burning agony radiating down his back.

Abruptly, Dean reared back and the cord snapped in Sam’s hand. His arms felt like lead, and he couldn’t even push back anymore. He let them fall, the pendant still clutched tightly in his hand. It dug into his flesh, but the small hurt wasn’t near enough to distract him from what the creature was doing to him. He felt like a bug pinned to one of those little cards. There was nothing he could do.

The creature seemed to notice Sam’s retreat and stilled inside of him. Sam could feel the hard flesh buried deep inside, could feel it twitching in eagerness, and he couldn’t help the litany of words that started falling from his lips. “Please, stop, just stop, please…”

“Shhh,” the thing breathed out, laying a finger over his lips and then moving to gently brush at the wetness on Sam’s temples with its thumbs. “You’re amazing, Sammy. God, love you so much,” it murmured at him.

Sam’s forced himself to swallow the rage that boiled in his gut at the creature’s words. “Dean, please. Stop,” he begged shamelessly. “Please, I’ll do whatever you want, Dean. I’ll call you whatever you want. Just, please, Dean…”

It leaned in and swallowed the rest of Sam’s words with a smothering kiss, grabbing Sam’s hands to trap them above Sam’s head. It smiled when it felt the pendent in Sam’s hand and laced their fingers together, trapping it painfully between their palms as it squeezed them tightly together.

“Mine!” It declared as it pushed deeply inside of Sam once again, and then pulled out along a path of fire. He breathed through it, willing the drugs to kick back in enough to allow him to relax, to get him through this.

“That’s right, Sammy, that’s right,” it murmured, voice strained. It altered the angle of its thrusts and the pain eased back slightly, and through the pain, it started to feel almost good. There was a kind of pressure building down low in his groin as Dean continued to move in him, and suddenly he realized he was getting hard, getting off on his brother’s dick inside of him.

“Dean,” he begged hopelessly, not sure what he was asking for.

Dean’s hand wrapped around Sam’s throbbing dick and started pulling mercilessly. “Not gonna… not gonna last long, Sammy. You gotta…”

The sensation of Dean’s hand moving expertly over Sam’s dick, combined with the ever escalating need that was building in his core, proved too much, and Sam was abruptly spilling over Dean’s hand, spattering his betrayal over his chest. Dean followed him almost immediately, his dick throbbing inside of Sam’s body again and again, until Dean finally collapsed over him, spent.

Sam couldn’t move, between the drugs and the orgasm he was completely devoid of energy. He couldn’t even push away when Dean wrapped around him. “You’re mine, you know,” Dean whispered. “This, what we just did? It’ll always be with you… You’ll never be able to be with anyone again without thinking of me, Sammy, not without thinking of your brother, of Dean, buried balls deep inside of you. Now you’ll always be mine…”

~o0O0o~

Dean kicked his heel down again, splashing water everywhere, as helpless to stop anything as he’d been when everything had started. He was pretty sure his wrist was a mangled mess, but he wasn’t sure it mattered anymore. He’d let his brother down in the worst possible way. Sam was never going to be able to forgive him. Not for this.

A sudden surge in energy sent him thrashing once more, a primal yell of pain and rage tearing from him before he collapsed in on himself. It was clearly over. It had to be. He hadn’t heard anything for… a long time.

He didn’t really know how long.

Too late… too late…

 _Fuck._ He curled in on himself, unable to keep the helpless fury inside any longer. Why was Sam staying with that thing? Why didn’t he just kill it? Why did he let it… do _that_ …

Harsh gasping sobs ripped loudly from his aching chest, and for the first time Dean felt just a little grateful that he was so alone, that there wasn’t anyone around to judge his breakdown.

It wasn’t fair. Sam didn’t deserve the tragedies that seemed to follow him around no matter where he went or what he did. The pipes around him moaned again, harsh and tortured as only metal can sound, calling out in sympathy to Dean’s unremitting cries.

He lost himself in that pain for a while, the inability to focus on his own plight its own fucked up relief, but he was running on fumes at this point, and eventually he was too exhausted to do anything but gaze unfocused into the darkness.

He couldn’t smell anything, not anymore, not for a while, actually. Couldn’t really feel anything anymore either. Come to think of it, he couldn’t really remember the last time his body had gone into spasms…

That probably wasn’t a good thing.

The pipes moaned again, longer and seemingly louder than before, although Dean wasn’t sure he could trust his memory at that point. The sound was unsettling and Dean started counting off the seconds waiting for it to fade away into echoes, but this time, it just got louder. The noise seemed to go on and on in a never ending screech, bearing down on the last of Dean’s sanity until…

Silence.

Sudden and complete… and somehow foreboding…

…a building pressure…

…like everything was holding its breath…

And then a bang, so loud it seemed to rock the ground and water was pouring down on Dean in a torrent so hard it pounded his exhausted body flat onto the floor. He struggled against it anyway, managed to pull himself up to sitting through sheer stubbornness, taking gasping breaths every time he managed to find a little air.

Eventually he found a position, leaning against the wall at a tilt, which bought him enough freedom from the deluge that he could reliably breathe. His legs were shaking, his fatigue complete, even as he sucked in grateful gulps of air. He thought about the water that had been slowly deepening around him, even with the slow trickle the waterfall had been before, and kicked at the pool hopelessly.

Oh, God… this was it. He was going to drown down here, completely alone, unacknowledged… just when his little brother needed him the most. He was going to go to his grave with his brother cursing his name.

_I’m sorry, Sammy… God, I’m so fucking sorry…_


	3. Chapter 3

Sam was still awake.

The creature had curled itself up around him a while ago and drifted off, but Sam had just lain there, paralyzed in its grasp even after the drugs had started slipping from his system. Sleep was out of the question, but so was rational thought. His mind seemed to be stuck in a loop of horror, forcing him to relive the events of the night on never-ending repeat, analyzing all the mistakes he’d made that had led him, and led Dean, to this end - torturing himself with all the things he should have done differently, all the ways he should have prevented any of this from happening if he’d only been stronger… smarter… faster...

His stomach growled, twisting in on itself, not in hunger, no, it felt like something had come alive in there and was trying to crawl its way out. A small pained sound worked its way out of his throat. If he moved, if he gave in to his body’s needs, Dean… the creature, might wake up. His heart skipped a beat. Better to just lay here as long as he could.

Its hand shifted, rubbing over Sam’s stomach lightly before stilling again. Sam tensed, willing himself not to open his eyes. It hurt too much to see Dean’s peaceful, innocent face relaxed in sleep, so familiar…

It wasn’t Dean… not Dean… the knowledge was gut deep, but it still couldn’t block out Dean’s face when he’d come, couldn’t block out the pleasure that had tensed his features as he buried himself inside of Sam.

Not Dean… God… Not Dean…

His stomach clenched, sending a clear message that whatever was in his stomach wasn’t going to stay down much longer. Fuck, this wasn’t a choice anymore. As carefully as he could, he eased himself out of the thing’s arms and moved as quickly as he could on unsteady limbs to the bathroom. Silently, he breathed out his thanks when the thing didn’t wake up. He managed to get the door shut and the toilet lid up before his legs gave out on him and he found himself kneeling on the floor, violently trying to expel every bit of liquid, and whatever little else his stomach contained, into the toilet.

He was shaking harshly when the dry heaves finally eased off. Slowly, painfully, he uncurled himself from his rigid position and eased himself back to lean against the wall, panting for breath and trying desperately not to notice the smell or the taste.

He wasn’t sure he could stand again. Whatever the creature had given him was seriously fucking with his system.

It should be dead. God, he should have shot it in the beginning, shot it when he’d first woken up and realized that it wasn’t Dean with him in the strange motel room. By now, his brother was more than likely dead despite what he’d done, and all of this farce had been for nothing.

A lance of grief stabbed its way through his heart. Not yet, he couldn’t face Dean being... not now. Not…

Dad, Dad would have taken it out long before now. Dad would have taken it out at the beginning and found another way to find Dean. Shit, Dad never would have let it get the drop on him at Becky’s house, so Dean wouldn’t be missing in the first place.

Dad wasn’t here though. All Dean had was Sam’s sorry ass.

If he killed the creature, Dean wouldn’t even have that. Well, there was Bobby… but Sam hadn’t even been able to collect enough clues for the man to be effective. Nothing Sam’d come up with so far had helped the situation in the slightest.

Dean would die alone in the dark – Sam’s strong, proud brother, whose only real fear had ever been being alone without Dad and Sam with him. God knew Bobby had tried, but he would never measure up to Dad in Dean’s eyes. Nobody ever would.

Sam wasn’t so sure anymore if he could face the thought of trying to be in this world without Dean, either. Fuck, there was still no choice. As long as there was a chance that Dean was still out there, some small chance that soon the creature would tire of this game and Sam would be able to save Dean, Sam was at the creature’s mercy. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he gave up. Saving Dean was worth any sacrifice.

Using the walls for support, he forced himself back up to his feet and turned the shower on as hot as he could stand. Focusing on nothing, he mechanically cleaned himself. His mind was finally shutting down, leaving him wrapped in a blissful cocoon of nothingness.

He hadn’t brought any clothes into the bathroom with him, so when he was done, after he’d dried himself, he wrapped the towel around his waist and, feeling uneasy and off kilter, he knotted it as tightly as possible.

He eased the door open softly, slowly, hoping against hope that…

“Morning, Sammy!”

Dean’s cheerful voice rang out, startling Sam enough to make him jump.

He froze, unable to make himself move out of the bathroom. The creature couldn’t still be expecting him to maintain their charade, could it?

“Come on, Sammy, get a move on. We still have a Hook Man to take out, you know.”

“No.” The word was out of Sam’s mouth before he could stop it. Harsh and cold and sounding like somebody else.

“No?” The creature sounded fucking puzzled, like it couldn’t comprehend what Sam had said.

“I’m not… I can’t... no.” Despite the numbness keeping Sam’s emotions in check, he could hear the uncertainty trembling through his words.

“But…” Dean looked confused, lost. “But, you’re almost done, Sammy.” Suddenly Dean was… the _creature_ was in his space, pressing in close, crowding him backwards.

Sam stumbled until he hit the counter and couldn’t move any further, and the creature kept coming until its mouth was close enough Sam could feel its breath on his face.

“And you aren’t allowed to tell me no,” it growled. “I thought I made that pretty clear last night.”

“Fuck you,” Sam snapped back. “No! After you… you can’t expect… I can’t keep up this act with my ra… with… with you!” Sam could feel himself starting to lose it, and he turned around to face the counter so he could hide his face.

That was a mistake. The creature immediately moved closer, wrapping familiar arms around Sam in a completely unfamiliar way and snuggling up tight against Sam’s back, its morning wood pressed obscenely against Sam’s ass – the ass that was only covered by one small, white towel.

“Shhh,” it soothed. “It’s okay, Sammy. You’re almost done. I’m so pleased with you.” Its hands were rubbing possessively over Sam’s chest as it spoke, making it hard for Sam to think. “Just play along for another day, long enough to take out the big bad monster, and I’ll tell you where Dean is and let you go. I promise.”

“You’re lying,” Sam replied, barely above a whisper.

“I already told you I don’t lie,” the creature growled. “Besides, I’ve gone to an awful lot of trouble to make sure your reunion is as special as it can be. Do you really think I wouldn’t want the results of all my handiwork to play out as it was meant to?”

Sam shivered as cold dread formed a lead ball in the pit of his stomach. Dean could never know… he couldn’t…

The creature nuzzled unshaven skin against Sam’s neck, and all at once he couldn’t think beyond the white hot rage that was consuming him. He twisted around, managing to work his hands under the creature’s to break its hold and shove it roughly away from him. It stumbled back, looking more than a little bit angry, but when it stepped forward, it was met with Sam’s fist slamming it to the ground.

Dropping down to get it pinned, he managed another hit, and then one more, but Dean used Sam’s momentum against him, blocking the next swing and tumbling them around until Sam was the one pinned to the floor by Dean.

“Say uncle, brat,” Dean taunted, calling back to the countless scuffles they’d had growing up, most of them playful, but there had certainly been more than a handful fought in anger.

Dean was straddling him, one leg on either side of Sam’s. The towel had come loose at some point and fallen away. Sam jerked in the hold, panic stabbing him right between his eyes, but Dean held him firm. “I said, call uncle!” Dean repeated, this time grinding his pelvis down against Sam’s.

Panic held him frozen as he struggled to keep breathing. He turned his head away, unable to look at this parody of his brother anymore. He had to blink a few times to clear the moisture gathering in his eyes. It didn’t help much. “Let me go,” he whispered.

It leaned forward until its lips were just barely brushing Sam’s ear. “That’s not how you ask, Sammy,” it growled.

Feeling sick, Sam turned his head back to look at the thing above him and mumbled, “Uncle. Now, please let me go… Dean.”

It smiled in satisfaction and leaned back. “Now, that’s more like it.” It stood up, pulling Sam with it before shoving him away in disgust. “You forget yourself, Sammy,” it growled. “You’ll have to make it up to me tonight if you want your brother back. Now get your ass out to the car. We got work to do.”

If Sam let himself dwell on that statement, he knew he’d crumble into pieces, so with a hitched breath, he shook his head in a pathetic attempt to clear it, quickly pulled on some clothes, and followed the creature out the door.

~o0O0o~

Sam sat numbly on the bed, the creature fussing over him just like Dean had after countless hunts. It put a final piece of tape on the bandage around Sam’s shoulder, the same shoulder it had popped out of place not that long ago, and gave him a hard slap on the wound, making Sam crumble forward and groan from the pain.

“There you go, Sammy, good as new!” it announced cheerfully. It got up and quickly rummaged through Sam’s bag, finding a clean shirt and tossing it over. “Put that on, Sammy. I’m in the mood to celebrate!”

Sam closed his eyes and turned his face away with a heavy sigh, unable to bear the creature’s satisfaction over a hunt gone so horribly wrong. “Go without me,” he muttered, feeling weary. Whatever the drugs were that the creature had given him, the effects were lingering for a long time. Sam had been completely off his game today, which is how the Hook Man had managed to rake him so good, and he still wasn’t thinking as clearly as usual.

“What’s wrong?” it asked, sounding mystified. It sat down next to Sam on the bed, making him stiffen. “The Hook Man’s destroyed, case closed! I could totally get used to this whole hunting evil thing – that was a complete rush.”

Sam leapt up from the bed and whirled around furiously. “The girl’s dead, and so’s her father! How the fuck is that a job well done? Dean sure as fuck wouldn’t be in a celebratory mood right now!”

“But I am, Sammy,” the creature said, slowly rising. “So you must not know your brother as well as you think you do.”

“Fuck you.”

“Later,” it growled back.

Sam took a step to the side and slammed his fist into the wall, imagining the creature’s face. He took a deep breath and, keeping his hand braced on the wall, turned around to look at the creature levelly. “No, that… that doesn’t happen again. The case is done. Now, tell me where my brother is.”

“But you haven’t fulfilled your part of the bargain,” it replied, once again acting confused.

A cold tendril of dread pulled Sam upright, away from the wall. “What?” he bit out through clenched teeth.

“You have to convince me that your brother means as much to you as you claim, remember?” the creature replied in a teasing sing-song.

Sam opened his mouth to reply, but cold fury stole his voice, and nothing came out.

“Don’t worry, Sammy. I’m not going to let you suffer much longer, in fact, I’ll let you prove it to me tonight, but first, I want steak. Killing things works up a hunger in a man.”

Sam stared coldly at it, unable to come up with anything coherent to say.

“Now, either put that shirt on and come with me, or run the risk that I’ll get bored and take off, secret in tow.”

“Let me see him again.”

“I can’t.”

Sam felt pole-axed. “What? Why not?”

The creature gave a disgusted snort, “Camera burned out a while ago. Technology. What’re you going to do? So…” Its good-humor abruptly fell away, and it growled, “Last time. Are you finishing the game as it was meant to be, or are you giving up on your brother?” It paused for a moment, then added, “What’ve you got to lose, Sammy? Couple more hours and this will all be over.”

Sam couldn’t move for a moment, his muscles rigid, his jaw clenched so tight he thought his teeth might break. Then all at once he was pulling the shirt on. The creature chuckled as he followed it out the door.

~o0O0o~

“Saw this place when I was driving around yesterday, Sammy.” The creature said happily as it pulled the Impala into a spot. “You’re gonna love it – they serve barbeque galore and there’s a full bar attached with pool tables in the back… And, dude, the girls were hot. Maybe you can score one, huh?”

Sam gave the creature an incredulous look and it laughed at him before swinging itself out of the car. It waited impatiently as Sam reluctantly followed suit. His shoulder was killing him, and all he really wanted to do was take some aspirin and crawl into bed. After finding Dean, of course. And really, he could do with a memory wipe of the last week or so, and then he’d be good.

“Come on, Sammy! Times awastin’!” it said, drumming a staccato on the roof of the car in accompaniment.

Sam winced, Dean’s nickname wearing thin. “You know, _Dean_ ,” he snapped irritably, “You’ve always called me Sammy, sure, but you didn’t usually do it all the damn time, in every other sentence.”

“Awe, don’t be a spoil sport, Sammy. You know you love it when I call you that.” It walked around the car and slung an arm around Sam’s shoulders, making him hiss sharply when the weight landed on his bad arm. It planted a wet kiss on Sam’s temple, making his skin crawl, and then messed his hair like he was ten.

Sam jerked away and it laughed heartily, grabbing him by his good arm and dragging him inside.

Once there, Sam found a table in the back, and the creature proceeded to the bar, ordering a drink and flirting with a girl that was sitting there, already nursing something pink and swirly. Sam watched for a few minutes, and when it didn’t seem to be heading back to join him like Sam had expected, he slowly moved up to the bar.

“Hey, Sammy!” It greeted as soon as he was close. “Why don’t you join us? This is Beth. Beth, Sammy.”

Sam scowled at the girl, hoping she’d take the hint and move off, but she seemed to be completely taken with his brother’s double. Shit, he was running out of time. He had to put Dean first, even if it put the girl at risk.

“Dean, I gotta hit the head. I’ll be back in a minute, okay?” Sam asked, forcing himself to breathe normally and not betray his nerves.

“What do I look like, your baby sitter? You don’t have to ask my permission to go to the bathroom, dude.” He laughed obnoxiously and then took a long pull from the beer the barkeep set down. Sam glanced at the girl, hoping she was as disgusted as Sam felt and was ready to move on, but she was still watching Dean all dreamy eyed.

Sam rolled his eyes and then turned away, making his way through the crowded restaurant towards the two closed double saloon doors with the restroom sign over them. He made it through and risked a glance back, but Dean was still right where Sam had left him. He moved around the bend in the narrow hall and pulled out his phone, quickly dialing Bobby’s number.

“Please, pick up. Please, pick up,” he muttered under his breath as he listened to the rings.

“Sam?” Bobby’s rough voice made Sam’s eyes burn, and he had to blink to clear them.

“Please tell me you’ve found something,” Sam said, not wasting time with pleasantries.

“I’m sorry. I just got to St. Louis. Was working with Ash to see if he could get anywhere with those files you sent, but so far no dice. You doin’ okay, son? You need me to come to you instead?

Sam sucked a breath in, the innocent question left him shaking for some reason, barely holding it together. “Yeah, Bobby,” he managed to rasp out, “I’m okay, I just need you to find Dean, okay?”

“I’ll do my best, Sam, but I don’t exactly have a lot to go on, and the fact that Dean’s a fugitive now isn’t going to make it any easier.”

“I know that, Bobby. Just… thank you.”

“No need to thank me, son. I’m happy to help,” Bobby replied, concern creeping into his voice.

The double doors were pushed open and Sam snapped his phone shut.

Just in time.

The creature came around the corner. “There you are. I’m going to take off with that girl for a while. You okay getting back to the motel by yourself?”

“What? No!”

It smirked at him, “No?” it replied lowly, “I thought we talked about that word, Sammy.”

“I… you said you were going to tell me where Dean is tonight.”

“And I will, later. Assuming you make a big enough sacrifice to convince me that Dean means as much to you as you do to him. But first, I’m horny. And I’m in the mood to hurt something. And the girl is so sweetly offering herself up to me…”

It turned and started to move away.

Sam grabbed his arm and swung him back around. He couldn’t kill the creature till he knew Dean was safe, but he couldn’t let the creature go off with that girl, either. There were already too many deaths on his head. “What do you want?” he growled. “Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”

The creature gave him a long, scrutinizing look, and then seemed to make up its mind all at once. “Okay, then. Let’s get out of here.”

~o0O0o~

The creature pulled out one of Dean’s tapes and sang along loudly to Motorhead the entire drive back to the motel. When it tried to get Sam to join it, Sam glared daggers, and the creature luckily let Sam’s defiance go. Sam’s anger didn’t stop the creature from acting like Dean at his obnoxious best though, and Sam was having trouble keeping himself from punching the thing by the time they pulled up in front of the door to their room.

The silence, when it turned off the engine, was startling. They both sat there for a few moments, listening to the engine cool. Sam’s gaze was fixed on a small string that had started unraveling from the stitches on the leather seat, unable to make himself move, fretting over what Dean would say when he saw the errant string and waiting for… whatever the creature was going to tell him to do.

It got out of the car abruptly and moved to the motel door, unlocking it and swinging it open. It didn’t go into the room though, just stood there on the small porch, looking at Sam with raised brows.

Reluctantly, Sam forced himself up. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could get Dean back.

Unless the creature was lying.

Sam didn’t think it was – at least, it seemed pretty plausible that the creature was looking forward to seeing the fallout of its actions, but there was no way for Sam to be certain of that. God, this could all be for nothing.

He pulled himself from the car slowly, careful of his aching shoulder. He double checked that the window was all the way rolled up before he shut the door and then tested twice to make sure door was locked. A bit of crud on the window caught his eye and he stopped to scrape it off, all under the creature’s silent gaze. He took a deep breath, hand lingering on the top of the car… and then reluctantly moved towards the façade of his brother.

It bowed low and then waved him into the room with a sardonic smirk and then kicked the door closed behind them both. It felt like the slamming of a prison cell door.

Sam took another deep breath, trying to keep his burgeoning panic at bay. “Where’s my brother?” The words tumbled from his lips uncontrolled.

“You haven’t convinced me to tell you that quite yet,” the creature replied, the corners of its lips twitching up.

“Look I…I already said I’d do… whatever, just tell me what you want me to do already.” Then, with bravado he didn’t actually feel he added angrily, “I’m sick of this game and I want my brother back. Now.”

“Brave words,” it sneered, amused.

It took a step towards him.

Sam backed up a step, keeping their distance static.

It laughed out loud and took a couple more steps forward. Sam took another back before realizing the creature was mocking him and froze. After that he stood firm, let the creature walk right up into his space. He wasn’t going to let himself be intimidated anymore.

It reached out tentatively and ran a gentle hand over Sam’s cheek, let its fingers trail over Sam’s lips. Sam’s breath was coming out hard and labored. He jerked his face from the creature’s grasp and growled, “What do you want?”

“Take your clothes off,” it replied, voice low and gruff.

Sam thought he maybe shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was. His heart skipped a beat. It couldn’t want… “Why?” The word slipped past his lips, wounded and small. He needed Dean to be okay more than he needed to breathe, but… _please don’t make me do this…_ The silent plea was tripping over itself in his head, running in small circles like a whipped dog.

It inched forward a little more, closing the last little bit of space, and their bodies met in a long line. It even smelled like Dean. Sam could taste bile burning in the back of his throat.

It moved its mouth next to Sam’s ear and spoke quietly, intimately, its breath tickling over Sam’s skin. “I’m all alone, Sammy, close to no one. All I want is for someone to love me. I’m just like Dean, you see.” It paused and carefully placed a hand on Sam’s bad shoulder.

“I understand him,” it continued softly. “We’re both different, and we know that, but, it’s so hard to be on the outside all the time… everyone needs a little human touch now and again – everyone needs the touch of someone who cares, who accepts us as we are. You’re the only one who can give that to Dean… the only one who can give that to me.”

“You’re insane,” Sam breathed out.

“Oh yeah?” The creature snapped, breaking the quiet moment and mercifully moving back a little. “What part of ‘serial killer who carves people up while wearing the face of their loved ones’ made insanity surprising?” It smirked, took another step away to lean against the old dresser. “Now strip. Or say goodbye to your brother, it’s your choice.”

When Sam hesitated, it added, “It’s not like we haven’t already done the nasty, you know. One more time isn’t really going to make that much of a difference.”

Sam crossed his arms over his chest, his thoughts a whirlwind. He didn’t even know if Dean was still alive. This could all be for nothing…

But what if Dean was... What if he was and Sam didn’t do everything in his power to get him back…

First Jess, then Dean… no. He couldn’t lose Dean. Not now. He wouldn’t survive it.

Bobby had nothing.

Time was running out.

The creature was right, anyway. They’d already fucked, and Sam was still standing, still functioning. A second time, the last time, it couldn’t really make it any worse. Dean would never need to know. No one would ever need to know.

Sam would take this to his grave.

He turned around.

“Na, uh, uh,” the creature sing-songed. Then, with a little more menace, “Facing me. And don’t rush it.”

Slowly, Sam turned around, and then with a small jerk, he moved his hand to the buttons of his shirt and methodically started pulling them apart, bit by bit.

With Dean’s face, the creature watched him hungrily, and Sam had to look away.

His hands were shaking, and between that and his bum shoulder, and the fact that striping was the least of his worries that night, it wasn’t hard to do what the creature wanted; he took his time. Before he knew it, though, his shirts were slipping through his fingers to land in an untidy pile on the floor.

His fingers ghosted over the buttons on his fly, and he couldn’t help one final plea from slipping past his lips. “Please…” He paused, eyes locked on the floor. Waiting.

A few moments passed, long enough that Sam couldn’t help the foolish hope that rose in his chest that maybe this creature would back down after all. Or maybe Dean would come bursting in the door right in the nick of time to put a stop to this nightmare once and for all. Wouldn’t be the first time his brother had saved his ass at the last second…

“Not that your chest isn’t remarkable,” the creature said dryly, making Sam jump, “but I plan on seeing a whole lot more of you than that tonight. Unless you’re realizing Dean isn’t as important to you as you thought?”

“No!” Sam snapped back. Angrily, he ripped his jeans open and pushed them, and his boxers, to the ground all at once.

“Nice,” the creature drawled. Dean’s eyes, the creature’s eyes, were locked on his groin, and he flushed uncomfortably. He stood there, fidgeting, until he couldn’t stand it anymore. He turned around and crouched down under the pretence of picking up his discarded clothing.

The creature didn’t stop him this time, and he stayed there, the crouch somehow feeling less vulnerable than standing up to face the thing. Never turn your back on your enemy only really applied when you weren’t stark naked and your enemy wasn’t wearing your brother’s lust-filled face. Sam was pretty sure there was a rule somewhere. With nothing else to really excuse his lingering, he folded and then refolded his clothes, poking at the least imperfection to make them squared and neat.

The creature moved forward to crouch down behind Sam, making his heart constrict painfully in his chest. The thing’s hands hit Sam’s back like brands, running down Sam’s naked skin and then circling back up to slide down his sides possessively, leaving him gasping for breath against the all-consuming desire to _flee_.

Dean wouldn’t want Sam to do this. Wouldn’t want Sam to make this sacrifice. Dean would probably beat the shit out of Sam if he knew what Sam was doing…

He didn’t move, couldn’t stop what was happening. Dean alive was more important than Dean happy.

It leaned in closer and pressed small kisses against the back of Sam’s neck as it continued to molest his back, and then its arms slipped around to the front and hugged Sam in close. “God, Sam, love you so much. I need to be your everything, need to know you’re never gonna leave me again.” Dean’s voice, perfectly copied.

Oh God, _not Dean… not Dean…_

Its kisses got more demanding, interspersed with little nips suckling bites at his skin. A hand wove through his hair and pulled his head back. “Open your eyes, Sam. I want you to see, need you to see me.”

Sam’s eyes had slipped closed of their own accord, but Sam stubbornly kept them that way.

_Not Dean…_

“It’d be a shame…” the creature muttered against Sam’s neck. “You go through all this, and I decide you really wouldn’t do anything to get your brother back…”

Sam’s eyes snapped open. “Fuck you.”

“Yeah, getting to that.” It pulled back a little, so that Sam could look into its eyes, into Dean’s familiar features. “Don’t look away.”

Eyes locked with Sam’s, it stood up and started to slowly undress. Embarrassed heat flushed through his face. He swallowed hard, had to look away and then force his gaze back, terrified that he’d angered the fucker, but it only seemed amused by his pain. Jeans fell to the ground and were kicked away, and Sam couldn’t help following them with his gaze.

“Sammy.”

“What?” Sam muttered, then belatedly added, “Dean.”

The creature snorted, amused, then said, “Look. At. Me.”

Sam’s breaths were coming shallow and fast, and he couldn’t get enough oxygen to keep himself from getting light-headed. “Please…” he whispered.

“Now!” the creature yelled, and the angry impatience of the command whipped Sam’s gaze away from the discarded pants and up to Dean’s face. It smiled then, and reached down to fondle itself. “See how hard I am for you, Sammy?”

Sam flicked his gaze down to Dean’s dick. He’d never really thought much about it before, but Dean was well-hung, especially hard and inches from Sam’s face. It was leaking, and the smell of musk hung heavy in the air. The creature crouched down and now that Sam’s gaze was there, he couldn’t seem to turn away, the horror of what he was letting happen a sharp staccato stabbing behind his eyes.

It leaned in close, and a finger under Sam’s chin forced his head up.

“Kiss me,” it said huskily.

Sam’s heart skipped in his chest again. With a quick exhale of air, he leaned forward and placed a small kiss against the creature’s chin.

“No, kiss me like you mean it, Sammy. _Before I get bored_.”

With shaking hands, Sam pulled Dean’s head in closer, closer… until Dean’s lips were skimming across his own. He parted his lips and used his tongue to trace the seam of Dean’s mouth, tentatively at first, and then pushing forward more forcefully to plunge inside.

The creature made a needy moan and wrapped itself more tightly around Sam, meeting his mouth with hungry kisses of its own. One of its hands slipped down Sam’s chest, kept moving until it reached Sam’s dick and wrapped around it.

Sam shuddered in its arms, instinct overwhelming reason as he was suddenly struggling to get away. Its hands tightened warningly, one on his cock and the other on his shoulder, and the sharp pain that fired through his body had him jerking back into its grip with a small whimper.

Relaxing its hold, it pulled against Sam’s cock as it continued to plunder Sam’s mouth, the touch firm and demanding, a steady push pull.

Sam felt his face heat.

He was getting hard.

He jerked out of the things arms again, this time winning his freedom as he scrambled backwards. His back hit the bed, blocking his retreat, and an anguished, “No,” fell from his lips.

“Shhh, Sammy, I’ve got you,” it said as it followed him. Sam’s muscles felt tight enough to shatter as it insistently pulled him forward into its arms and slipped a tongue back inside of his mouth, its hand unerringly finding his dick again.

Its other hand slipped around to Sam’s back and drifted lower in little soothing circles. “It’s okay,” it whispered, pulling away from Sam’s mouth only barely far enough to get the words out. “It’s okay. We need this. I promise you, you’re going to feel amazing, and we’ll be so much stronger for it. Nothing’s ever going to pull us apart again.”

Another small burst of anger found Sam’s bravado once more. “Will you please just shut the fuck up?” Sam grit back, jumping as the creature found a particularly sensitive spot that sent little tendrils of pleasure shooting through his gut. “The monologue is worse than the lackluster sex.”

The creature chuckled lowly. “I don’t know, Sammy, you don’t seem to be having any trouble getting it up for me…”

Sam was undeniably hard, and he felt the burn creep up his cheeks and spread out to his ears, his eyes. He blinked rapidly, trying desperately to keep his emotions bottled up inside.

_Not Dean… Not Dean…_

“Kiss me like you mean it, like you’re hungry for me…”

Sam steeled himself and tilted his head up. He pressed his tongue inside the creature’s mouth, running it over the contrasting hard and soft surfaces inside. Physically, it was Dean’s exact copy.

He was exploring the taste and feel of his brother’s mouth, his brother’s mouth was sucking on his own.

His body was pulsing up into the thing’s hand, and… and that was good. It… it was a good thing, because the sooner he got off, and the sooner the creature got off, the sooner this would all be over and then he could start with the forgetting. Getting hurt was a way of life, it was how he was raised. He knew how to move past it. He did. This really wasn’t much different than being thrown up against a wall. Right? At least, it wasn’t different if he didn’t let it be.

“God, Sam,” the creature muttered, “ordering you around, you doing what I say… so fucking hot…”

“I thought I told you to shut the fuck up.”

“Use my name, Sam,” the creature replied darkly.

“I thought I told you to shut the fuck up. Dean,” Sam repeated harshly.

It grabbed Sam’s face in a tight, uncomfortable grip, jerking him forward and making his shoulder pulse unhappily. “Use my name, and use it like it’s normal, and do it a lot, or I’m going to decide you didn’t live up to your side of the bargain. You need to find your inner actor and start convincing me that you are into this, or the deal is off. Is that clear?” It’s fingers felt like a vice around Sam’s jaw.

Sam nodded within the creature’s hand, and it let Sam’s face go with another jerk.

“Tell me what you want, Sam. And look into my eyes while you say it.”

_Not Dean… not Dean… not Dean…_

Sam took a deep breath and looked into the creature’s eyes, so like Dean’s, and stuttered out, “Want you to fuck me, Dean. Please, I… I need you inside me, Dean. Please.”

“That’s more like it,” it muttered huskily, a predatory smile gracing its lips as it closed the distance between then again. Its hands started moving almost feverishly over Sam’s skin, trying to touch every part of him at once. One of its hands found Sam’s dick again, quickly pulling him back to full hardness. The other kept exploring, getting more and more frantic as it ghosted everywhere over Sam. “I’m the only one you want. You’ve always wanted me like this. Say it.”

Sam was shaking, his eyes leaking slowly, and it felt like someone was shoving an ice pick down his throat, but he managed to get out, “God, Dean. Always need you. Need you in every way possible. Never gonna let you go, Dean. Not ever.” The words were mostly true, even if the man in question wasn’t here.

_Not Dean… not Dean… not Dean…_

“Good, good. That’s right, Sammy. Come apart for me,” his brother’s voice trembled against his throat. “Get… get on the bed. Lie on your back and spread your legs.”

Sam wasted no time pulling himself from the creature’s arms, but then almost had a heart attack as he approached the bed.

Everything was surreal. This couldn’t really be happening. He put a knee on the bed, and his still hard dick brushed against his inner thigh. His vision blurred, but he kept moving. Gingerly, he lay on his back and tentatively opened his legs, leaving himself completely exposed, completely vulnerable.

He was shaking so hard the bed was moving under him.

Dean… the… the creature that looked like Dean… scrambled up onto the bed between his legs. It bent forward and licked an eager stripe from his navel up to his chin. “God, you taste good,” it muttered, flashing Sam a pleased smile. “Remember what I said.” It didn’t wait for a response, just ducked down suddenly and took Sam into its mouth, sucking him down easily, practiced.

Sam arched up into the moist heat, pleasure skipping over his skin and traveling over his head and down his limbs, leaving him writhing uncontrollably, even as his shoulder pulsed angry warnings. It was too much. “Please, Dean, please, please stop,” he cried out.

Dean pulled off of him with an obscene pop. “Wanna make you feel so good, Sammy,” he husked out before sucking Sam down once more.

Sam gasped out another cry of, “Dean!” whimpering around the single syllable. A wet finger pushed at his hole and Sam cringed away, his brother’s name morphing into, “Don’t!” without conscious thought.

The creature didn’t react to his frantic plea, its skilled mouth and tongue continuing to make rational thought an impossibility as it pushed harder, harder… and suddenly it was past Sam’s defenses, thrusting deeply inside of him, deep enough to hit his prostate. Sam’s desperation grew as it moved over that spot inside of him, and uncontrollable need was building so fast it was embarrassing, higher, more… more… almost… pleasure crashed over him in waves accompanied by his harsh sobs of denial.

The creature’s finger continued moving over his prostate, milking his orgasm from him even as it moved up, until Dean’s satisfied face filled Sam’s vision, and still Sam pulsed out more, his spend coating his belly and chest. “Mine,” Dean growled, gravelly deep.

He pulled his fingers out of Sam and moved up as Sam dazedly pulsed out the last of his release, the room spinning around him.

Dean pulled his good arm across his chest, and something cold circled it. There was a soft click, but before Sam could quite process it, the creature yanked his bad arm, making him yell out with the wave of agony that hit as his brother flipped him over onto his stomach. His other wrist was shackled into place as he struggled to breathe through the pain.

“What?” Sam wheezed out between gasps, “Fuck, don’t! I’m cooperating!”

There was no response, but as he felt one of his legs get locked down, his brain finally engaged. He started struggling like a rabid dog, jerking on his bonds and kicking out his one free limb, but even though he couldn’t feel the pain in that moment, his shoulder was still sapping his strength, his position was awkward, and before he knew it, his other leg was pinned as well.

He yanked angrily against his bonds. “Please,” he begged, “Please, Dean. I’m doing what you want. You, you don’t need to do this. Dean, please, let me go.”

Dean crawled up Sam’s body and draped himself over Sam. His dick was pressed hard and wet against the back of Sam’s thigh. Sam was wrung out and exhausted, but this was obviously far from over yet.

He pressed a kiss against Sam’s temple, wet with sweat and tears, although Sam hadn’t even been aware he’d been crying. “I’m sorry, Sammy, but I’m gonna want a little blood before I get off, and I didn’t think you’d be able to just lie there and let me do that. The shackles are actually there to help you. Don’t you see? I’m helping you to save your brother.”

Sam jerked under the thing, a harsh, “No,” ripping from his throat.

“It’s okay,” it hastened to add. “You’ve done enough. Unless you really fuck it up, I’m gonna tell you where your brother is as soon as we finish here.”

Relief, fury, sadness, guilt, they all flooded Sam at once, left him still except for the hitched breaths that continued their painful entrance and exit unabated.

“Here, another kindness. This way, I’ll understand if you don’t call me by my name,” it said.

“What?” Sam responded in alarm, lifting his head to try to see what the creature was doing. A leather cord suddenly whipped around his face and was yanked tight, cutting past his lips and teeth into his mouth. He couldn’t help his enraged shout as he reared back and shook his head violently to try to throw the creature off, but his efforts had little effect. The leather tangled in his hair, yanking out tiny clumps as the cord was knotted so tightly that it dug deeply into the corners of his mouth, forcing his lips into a painful rictus of a smile.

“Please…” he slurred out. The pendent, Dean’s pendent, was a bright, metallic burn against his tongue. His stomach heaved in protest, adding the burn of bile against the back of his tongue.

“Shhh…” it whispered, closing its mouth over Sam’s and forcing its tongue passed Sam’s lips to tease over the pendent. It pulled back wetly and kissed Sam chastely on his chin. “You need to relax for me, Sammy, or this’ll hurt even more than it needs to. It slid down Sam’s body again, and ran its hands intimately over the cheeks of his ass.

He struggled against the cuffs again, and his tongue was getting rubbed raw against Dean’s pendent, but he was completely helpless, and the creature knew it.

It pulled his cheeks apart and something hard and plastic was shoved passed his enterance. A loud squelching sound filled the room as cold liquid flooded inside of him, making him jerk against his bonds again. Then it was yanked free and Sam heard it hit the wall right before the creature’s, not Dean’s, _the creature’s_ dick probed at his entrance. “Wait!” he forced out, the word barely intelligible. He hadn’t been stretched enough, he wasn’t ready…

He was starting to hyperventilate, his breaths heaving out of him in panicked gasps.

_Not Dean… not Dean… not Dean…_

It pushed down, forcing its dick inside. Fiery pain lit Sam up from within, and he yelled into the pillows. It was too late for anyone to help him, and he didn’t want the creature stopped, not now, not when he was so close to getting what he needed.

It pushed down steadily – Sam couldn’t even breathe through the pain – deeper… deeper… it bottomed out, and Sam had time to choke in a ragged breath before it pulled almost out and then pushed all the way back inside, coming to rest there, unmoving for the moment.

Sam pushed back against it, desperate for it to move, desperate for this to be over. It didn’t thrust back, only straightened up to kneeling on the bed, pulling Sam with it so that his arms were stretched to their limit, and his ass was pulled back against the thing’s crotch, his legs straddling its hips, and knees pulled up as far as the chains allowed.

The thing stroked over the base of his spine, possessive and lingering. Sam felt something scratch against his skin, and then a line of fire ignited over the path. Sam pressed his mouth into the pillow under his head and screamed into it.

“You know,” it said conversationally, as if it wasn’t pressing long lines of flaring agony down his lower back, “This is one of the few places your brother and I don’t see eye to eye. He’d be sickened at the thought of blood during sex. His loss. God, Sammy, you’re so beautiful…”

Sam was at an angle, and he could feel warmth tickling down the length of his spine, slowly, slowly… until it hit the back of his neck and spilled over his shoulders. The creature took a moment to bend forward and suck at it, muttering, “God, Sammy, taste so good,” against his skin.

Sam panted against the pillow. He could still feel the sharp stab of its dick spearing through him, pinning him more effectively than the chains.

“Please, Dean…” he begged unintelligibly. His garbled words fell on deaf ears and tacky, damp fingers slid into his mouth, filling it with the copper-tang taste of his own blood. He jerked back but it simply followed him, wiping its fingers thoroughly around the inside of his mouth, playing over the pendent and making him gag before pulling its hand back and patting against his cheek with a laugh.

It went back to its cutting, the knife moving over his skin again and again until Sam couldn’t feel anything but the steady wash of pain over his entire back, until he was left wondering if there would be any skin at all left there when it was done.

The thud of the knife hitting the floor startled Sam from the haze of agony he’d let himself sink into. He sobbed, and a well of something akin to gratitude filled his chest even as its hand moved through the mess of his lower back, followed closely by obscene sucking noises and loud groans of pleasure.

“You taste like heaven, Sammy,” the creature purred. It pushed Sam forward once more, following after to maintain their connection, and then pulsed down, deepening itself with a harsh thrust before pulling back. Sam was almost numb to the pain now, and he lay there passively as the creature pulsed harshly in and out of him once, twice, three times… once more, and it was coming with an obscene groan, filling Sam with its slime.

_It was over now, right? Please god, let it be done…_

It licked and sucked on Sam’s back for a while, as Sam laid there in a stunned stupor, too exhausted, both mentally and physically, to put up any more of a fight. Finally, it slipped off the bed and crouched there so it could look directly into Sam’s face.

The view was horrific – Dean’s face, covered with Sam’s blood. Sam closed his eyes with a pained moan. “Here. It’s a thumb drive.” Sam forced his eyes back open in time to see the thing place a small blue oval on the pillow next to him. “It has a map of the sewers, and directions to where I left your brother.” It gave a short laugh, “You’ll understand if I take my leave of you while you’re still chained down. I’d like to make it out of here with my skin intact.” It laughed loudly at its own joke.

Then reached out with a long strip of fabric towards Sam’s face.

No… _no!_ Sam thrashed his head around, trying to make it too difficult for the creature to get it around his head, but he was weak and it wasn’t long before the shifter had it tied around his head covering his eyes. The leather cord staining against his mouth snapped free, but before he could even attempt to relax his jaw again, hard fingers squeezed into his cheeks, forcing his mouth to stay open. A ball of thick cloth was shoved into his mouth in place of the pendent. It blocked Sam from spitting it out with its hand. Sam tried to bite it but the material was too thick to close his fatigued jaw, and the creature crisscrossed the long piece around his head and over his mouth tightly and knotted it into place.

“There,” it said when it was satisfied, “That oughta keep you from getting help before I get far enough away. Anyway, it’s been a blast. Thanks for the good times. I’m sure you’ll be able to figure out a way out of those cuffs eventually.”

Sam’s right fist was prized apart, and the small, rubber coated drive was pushed into his hand. As soon as he realized what it was, he wrapped his fingers around it tightly. No way was he letting that go.

Sam heard it moving around the room for a minute, and then the door opened… closed…

The room was silent. The creature was gone.

Dean…

The drive in his hand made it a little awkward, but he worked his fingers around the chain attached to his cuffs and gave a hard yank, hoping to break them. Or at least, he intended to pull hard. His arms were shaking with fatigue, and all he really managed was to make a not very loud rattling sound.

He tried to remember what was in the room, on the side table, anything close enough that he could use it as a tool, but he couldn’t come up with anything. The room felt like it was moving, swinging, an odd sensation coupled with his lack of sight. He was completely naked and chained spread-eagle on the bed which was stripped of everything but the sheet and a couple of pillows.

He thought about trying to dislocate his thumb so he could pull out of the cuffs, but his arms were spread apart, and he had no real leverage to do it with. He pulled frantically on the chain anyway, and only succeeded in making them a sticky mess as the edges cut into his skin.

His energy leaking away faster than he could think, he put his head down, just to rest it for a minute…


	4. Chapter 4

“Son of a bitch!”

The angry words jerked Sam awake. He snapped his head up, for a moment forgetting that the blindfold made that pointless.

“What did you do, son? What the hell did you do?” Bobby sounded… well, he sounded a little wrecked.

Sam tried to put his hands under himself to push himself up, but was brought up short by the chains that still held them fast. Everything poured back in at once, and he couldn’t help the flinch when he felt Bobby’s hands at the back of his head.

After a moment, the blindfold and gag fell away. Sam couldn’t hold back his sigh of relief, but there really wasn’t time to worry about his own shit right now. “Fuck, Bobby,” he rasped out, “Why are you here? You were supposed to be looking for Dean!” He forced his eyes open painfully. They were covered in thick crust. He must’ve been crying in his sleep or something.

“Didn’t have any leads on Dean, and you sounded like you were plannin’ somethin’ stupid. Turns out I was right.”

Sam flinched at the truth of the statement, and then realization hit him – Oh, God… Bobby could see what… Bobby _knew_.

Sam felt the lock around his wrist click open. He jerked his hand out of Bobby’s but didn’t have the energy to do more than let it flop onto the bed. The sheets around him were tacky and wet. From the almost eye-watering smell of copper around him, he guessed it was his blood. God, Dean didn’t have time for Bobby to be fussing over Sam’s worthless hide. “Bobby,” Sam begged as the man moved to his other side, “Please, I know where Dean is. You gotta take this drive and go get him. It has a map…”

“I can’t leave you right at the moment, Sam,” Bobby replied with a grunt.

“Please, Bobby! He doesn’t have much time. I can take care of myself. Go get Dean!”

Bobby snorted at him, “You can barely move, let alone take care of yourself. Damn it, son, I’m not leavin’ to save one boy only to lose the other. Now, I’m gonna go get your brother, but not a’fore I get you at least a little patched up. Your back is a bloody mess – shit, you’re bleedin’ like a stuck pig.”

If Dean was dead, after everything Sam had done… the panic was eating him alive and he jerked on the chains that still held him open and exposed…

“Stop it, Sam. Damn it. You aren’t helping.”

Bobby’s hand patted his shin and then circled around his ankle, holding it still… and rational thought vanished. “No! Don’t! Stop!” Sam yelled, thrashing around on the bed knowing nothing except that he needed the hands off, now. “Leave me alone! Stop, just stop!”

Sam wasn’t sure how long he lay there, fighting and screaming, but eventually, Bobby’s soothing voice penetrated his fog of fear. “Shhh. Sam, I ain’t touchin’ ya. It’s okay, son. I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe now. Damn it, you’re safe…”

Sam sucked in some deep breaths, trying to calm himself. Freaking out like this wasn’t doing his brother any good. He needed to fucking get a hold of himself.

Bobby’s words had changed. “That’s good, Sam. Just keep breathing. You’re okay, son. Just you ‘n me…”

“Sorry… God, Bobby, I don’t know what… I’m sorry, sorry…”

“It’s alright, boy. I don’t even wanna think about what you’ve been through. Can I try to free your legs now?”

“Yeah, it’s okay. I’m okay…” Sam gulped out. He wasn’t though. His face was wet with tears and snot, and his back was a wall of fire.

But he needed to be.

God, Dean needed him to be. He continued taking deep, gasping breaths as Bobby worked, and eventually both his legs were free.

He tried to push himself up, but Bobby put a hand between his shoulder blades, easily stopping him. “Hold up. Your back looks like it’s going to need some stitches. Well, a whole lot of stitches, to be honest. Might as well take care of that on this bed, then move you to the clean one. This one’s hopeless.”

“Please, Bobby,” Sam begged tiredly, “Just go get Dean.”

“Soon’s I got you patched up, I’ll go. Now quit your bellyaching. The sooner you stop arguing, the sooner I get done what I need to, and the sooner I can leave to get your brother.”

Sensing Bobby’s unbreakable resolve, Sam forced his mouth closed reluctantly.

Bobby went outside for a few minutes, then came back in and went into the bathroom for a bit before coming over and placing a couple of towels on the bed next to Sam. He sat down. Placing a glass of water on the bedside table, he said carefully, “This’s gonna hurt like a son of a bitch. You want the good drugs? I got stuff that’ll knock you on your ass.”

“No. I don’t want to be drugged, in case Dean…”

Bobby sighed. “Okay. Here, at least take these, then. Antibiotics and some stuff that will at least dull the pain a bit and won’t stay in your system long enough to make a difference.”

Sam took the pills and went to swallow them dry, then realized how incredibly parched he was. He let Bobby hold the glass to his lips and eagerly gulped down some of the water.

Bobby put down the half empty glass, then picked it back up to pour some water on Sam’s back, probably to get enough of the blood off that he could see what he was doing. Sam tried not to be irritated with the man, but he couldn’t help flinching against the uncomfortable cold.

“Oh, sweet Jesus…” Bobby’s outburst sounded strangled, and trailed off at the end.

“What? What’s wrong?” Sam asked, suddenly uneasy.

He was greeted with several moments of still silence.

“Bobby?” he finally prompted.

Bobby coughed, and moved to pick up one of the towels to blot at Sam’s back. “The, uh… the cuts. They weren’t random slashes, you know that?”

“No.” Sam tried to crane his head around so he could see, but Bobby pushed him back down with a solid hand.

“They, um. Well, they spell out a word.”

Sam went still, suddenly drowning in dread. “What does it say, Bobby? Jesus, just tell me.”

“It says, um,” Bobby cleared his throat nervously. “It says, ‘Dean’s.’”

~o0O0o~

The sound of the engine cutting off pulled Sam out of the light doze he’d finally managed to achieve despite the ache that was radiating from his back out to… well, pretty much everywhere. He groaned unhappily.

“Wait here,” Bobby said into the silence. “I’ll go find your brother.”

“I’m coming with you,” Sam mumbled, starting to pull himself from the nest of pillows that were keeping the pressure off his back.

“Like hell you are,” Bobby snapped irritably.

The man swung himself out of the car quickly, and Sam almost fell when his muscles refused to move fast enough to keep pace. “I’m coming with you!” Sam repeated loudly, frustration making the words sharper than he intended.

“You don’t know what’s down there,” Bobby growled. “You’re in no condition to deal with anything, and this could very well be a trap. Now use the brains god gave ya, and put your ass back in the car!”

“No!” Sam snarled. “I’m getting my brother out of that shit hole. Now.” He’d memorized the map that had come up on the laptop when they’d inserted the drive. He didn’t need to wait for Bobby. He started moving off without the man.

“Damn fool,” Bobby muttered under his breath angrily as he strode easily to catch up with Sam. “You’re stubborn like your father. God damn Winchesters are gonna send me to an early grave.”

Sam held in his offended retort at being compared to his Dad. He needed to get to Dean. Nothing else mattered. Getting in an argument with the man trying to watch his back wasn’t just stupid, it would also slow them down.

Unhesitatingly, he moved into the sewers after Dean, refusing to acknowledge the tears that pain pulled from his eyes as they maneuvered their way through the narrow and awkward spaces. Dean was like a bright beacon in his mind, an irresistible lure. Everything he’d sacrificed would be worth it as long as Dean was okay.

Not much longer… not much longer…

_Dean, I’m coming, man…_

A wave of copper suddenly assaulted him, and he gagged on the flair of panic that ripped through his chest so hard it almost crippled him. “Bobby…” he whined out; the little boy inside him wanted an adult to tell him he was wrong, that everything was okay. That wasn’t going to happen, though, he knew that. He didn’t wait for a response, just quickened his pace, moving as fast as he could through the labyrinth of tunnels.

The copper smell only intensified as he got closer to his destination, begging, pleading with God and the angels and anything that might be listening, “Dean… please be okay… I need you to be okay… let him be okay, please…”

He had to slow as he reached the destination the map had promised him, nothing more than a hole in the ground with the rungs of a ladder leading down into the dark. This was where Dean had been kept for days. He beamed his flashlight into the hole… and crumpled to the floor.

Blood and gore covered the walls of the deep depression – even the ladder was slick with red.

_No…_

He could hear Bobby coming up behind him, could hear the sudden intake of breath the man took when he peered over Sam’s shoulder at what waited below.

“Holy Mother of God…” Bobby swore.

Sam reached out, grabbed the top rung, his own injuries completely forgotten for the moment. With shaking hands he started climbing down and almost slipped and fell when his weakened, clumsy fingers came in contact with blood that was so fresh it was still dripping in places. His flashlight clattered to the ground, leaving only a small splash of light illuminating the floor below. “Dean…” Sam whined out, succeeding in losing his grip and falling the last two feet.

He crawled to the person-shaped figure still chained to the wall and pulled the gory mess into his arms. “Dean,” he sobbed, “Dean… Oh, God, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

Bobby moved behind him and placed a warm hand on his shoulder. It wasn’t enough, could never be enough to make up for what he’d lost. “Dean…”

But he didn’t have anything else, so when Bobby’s arms circled around him from behind, he crumpled into the embrace.

~o0O0o~

He was floating, suspended by fluffy blue clouds.

It was calm. Peaceful, but… kind of boring…

Dean suddenly realized he was holding a harp. _What the fuck?_ He looked at it, wondering what he was supposed to do with it, since he didn’t know how to play the damn thing. Really couldn’t imagine _wanting_ to know how to play it.

Fuck that. Whoever’s fucked-up idea of heaven this was, it wasn’t his. He chucked it over the side of the cloud carelessly. A moment later he was scrambling over to the edge and looking over the side, suddenly eager to see where the instrument would land.

Except that there was nothing but bright blue emptiness below him, not even a hint of land below. It should be terrifying, but he couldn’t even seem to muster up a mild concern. He watched the thing fall, oddly fascinated as it got smaller and smaller, until he couldn’t see it anymore.

Maybe it would fall right into hell and hit Lucifer on the head.

Except, fuck, if it missed, he’d just thrown away his only weapon. Shit. That wasn’t very smart. Dad was going to be _pissed_. All that effort to train him up right, and he couldn’t even remember to hold onto his goddamned weapon.

He backed away from the edge of the cloud.

He wasn’t sure where Sam was. That was… well, now, that was a problem. He guessed he was just going to have to hang around until his brother showed up. Which kind of sucked, but... not like he could go anywhere anyway.

The cloud looked comfortable. Probably way better than that craptastic mattress he’d had in the last motel Dad’d made them stay at. He lay down, sighing contentedly as he relaxed back and put his arms behind his head. It was kind of nice not to have anything he had to do. Nobody needed him for anything. Nobody’s life was his to save, for once. All he had to do was lie here and wait for Sammy.

His life could begin again when Sam showed up.

He wished he knew where his brother was, though. Damn, Dad was going to tan his hide when the man realized he’d lost his brother _again_. He flipped over on his stomach and started fishing around in the vapors, hoping to find his little brother hiding there. Panic started inching slowly up as his hands failed to make contact with anything remotely solid.

His skin prickled with nervous sweat. He didn’t even know where to start looking, now. He flipped back over with a discontented sigh. He needed a distraction or he was going to fret himself to death.

He looked around, but all he could see were the bottoms of other clouds. He wondered if there were people on all of them.

“Hey!” he shouted.

There was no answer, so after a minute he just shrugged and sat up. He was sure there was something he was supposed to be doing, but damned if he could remember what it was. Dad would whoop his ass if he saw him lazing around like this though, that was for sure. He stood up and ran in place for a while, trying to work up a sweat, but he didn’t seem to be getting tired. He _was_ getting bored again, though. Dad would never know if he stopped. So he did, and stood there, peering into the clouds like a goddamned psychic freak.

He was waiting for something. What was it again? He snorted. He was waiting for something to happen in the place where nothing ever did. That was all kinds of stupid.

Except…

He looked around. _Sam?_ He hadn’t opened his mouth but the word echoed around him like he had yelled. Sam didn’t bother to answer. His brother must have run off somewhere. Again.

_Jerk-off._

Suddenly his eyes caught on something, and he sucked in a sharp breath. Sitting on her own cloud, not too far from his own, there was a really hot chick dressed in a shimmering nightgown thing that left little to the imagination. How the fuck had he not noticed her before? He felt himself perk up. He wouldn’t mind wasting time on a cloud with that.

Wait. Her cloud was bigger than his! That was just... not fair. It was also cotton candy pink instead of baby blue. It looked good enough to eat. His stomach rumbled. He reached down and grabbed a handful of his own, but it only wisped through his fingers. Darn.

Oh, right. Hot girl at one o’clock.

He stood back up and waved at her, but she looked right through him like he wasn’t there. “Hey!” he shouted. She didn’t react, only turned away casually. She looked ethereal, standing there on her cloud. She made a graceful wading motion, and her cloud started to float away.

Maybe… maybe she was going wherever his brother was. If she was, then... he had to go after her.

He made the same motion she had, but nothing happened. Suddenly frantic, he started jumping up and down. “Hey!” he screamed, trying to get her attention.

She was still moving away.

He threw himself down and started making paddling motions with his hands, but it accomplished absolutely nothing. His heart was pounding in his chest – he couldn’t even make out her features anymore. If he lost her, he’d be all alone out here.

His brother needed him. Why the fuck did Dean let him go away? He should have told the brat to stay inside.

He was always losing people. Dad… Sam… And now the one person who could help was floating away like it didn’t matter. Fury tore through him, but he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it unless he caught her. He paddled faster.

The cloud was starting to wisp up around him, and from his position he had no choice but to breathe it in. He’d expected it to be kind of refreshing, like fog, but it wasn’t. It was thick and cloying, and he tried to cough it out, but that only made him gasp in more of the sticky substance.

He started struggling, but all that accomplished was sinking him further down into the cloud. “Help me!” he screamed, but no one came, and he sank down further.

It was surrounding him now, and whatever he’d been standing on seemed to be gone. He was floating, more or less, although he thought maybe he was still moving downward slowly, still mostly suspended by the thick goo. He flailed around and tried to climb his way back up, but all that seemed to accomplish was to make him fall faster.

He held his breath, brought his limbs in close and let himself plummet, hoping to fall out of the bottom so he could find some air, but the cloud seemed to extend down forever.

But, no, that couldn’t be right, could it? There had to be a bottom, didn’t there?

He fell, faster and faster, dizzy with the need to breathe, with the need for someone to catch him, but there was no one... He was all alone…

He screamed…

And woke up coughing, every breath a struggle. It felt like he was still drowning, but his body felt dry. He was lying on what seemed to be a bed. He clawed at his face. There was something on it, something covering his nose and mouth.

“Hey!” Sam said, grabbing Dean’s hands, his eyes full of puppy concern and his voice soft and soothing. “Hey, Dean. The oxygen mask is helping you. You’ve got pneumonia. You need to leave that alone.”

Sam… Dean clutched at his brother, pulling him in close. He couldn’t seem to suck enough air down into his lungs to satisfy his need, and his breaths were coming out in rapid little pants, making talking almost impossible, but he gratefully pulled his brother into his arms.

Sam was okay. He was _okay_.

His eyes filled with tears as he clutched harder, trying to communicate without words.

“Shhh…” Sam soothed. “I’m alright. They got you out. You’re okay…” Sam slowly pulled away, sitting back down and taking Dean’s hand in his own.

Gradually, Dean relaxed, letting Sam’s hand stroke over his own, calming him. Keeping hold of Dean’s hand with one hand, Sam reached out with the other and gently began massaging Dean’s chest.

Dean was slipping back under fast, reality already starting to flicker in and out though he wasn’t sure he wanted to experience any more of his weird ass dreams. Plus, he needed to make sure his brother was alright…

Sam pulled the covers over him, hitching his hospital gown up as he did, and then reached under the blankets to rub his chest, skin to skin… It felt… well, odd, but it was relaxing at the same time. He didn’t fight it.

He lay there, his thoughts spinning off in strange directions. They must’ve put him on some of the good shit…

The hand on his chest continued to move over him, slip-sliding over slightly sweat-dampened skin. Teasing… provocative… he didn’t remember going to a bar, let alone picking up a girl. He arched up into the touch a little, but the hand that pushed back was far too large to be feminine.

“Stop…” he tried to complain, but the mask covering his face obscured his gravelly protest.

He stilled again, unable to focus, fading rapidly now towards unconsciousness.

He was only vaguely aware when Sam leaned over him and pulled off the mask. It immediately got harder to breathe, but he couldn’t seem to open his eyes or find the words to ask for it back. Sam’s presence grew closer, and that was okay. Everything would be alright, as long as Sam was here with him.

Warm lips pressed lightly, gently, against his own.

That was… not right… tension filled him, but he couldn’t fight his body anymore, and terror followed him back into restless, crazy dreams.

~o0O0o~

“Sam…” Bobby had released him and moved to retrieve the other flashlight, the one Sam had dropped, using both to illuminate the small space.

Sam continued to rock in place, holding onto the body with a death grip, grief clouding out any thoughts but his overwhelming sense of loss.

“Sam, wait,” Bobby ordered, “look, put the body down.”

Cold fury flooded Sam. How dare Bobby suggest he leave his brother lying on the cold floor? His head jerked up and he sent Bobby a deadly glare, silently challenging the old man to make him.

A disgusted snort preceded a low curse and Bobby crouched down in front of Sam, gritting out, “That’s not Dean. Shit, I don’t think that’s even a man.”

Startled, Sam looked down at the dim outline of the body. Bobby played his light over it, and suddenly Sam’s overtaxed brain came back online. It was small, light… even as hacked up as it was, it was far too slight to be Dean. He dropped it unceremoniously and snatched one of the lights from Bobby with a bloody hand.

He felt sick, and a part of him didn’t want to know, wanted to run from this dank hole and never look back, but he forced the light to play over the body, starting at the feet and moving his way up. The skin was a mess of bloody slashes, with chunks of flesh cut away down to the bone in places. The crotch and chest were so hacked up they were almost unrecognizable, but now that he was looking, yeah, this had definitely been a woman at some point.

Sightless eyes greeted him as he made it to the face… at least, what had once been a face. The eyes and nose had been cut off, the mouth slashed wider, almost a clown’s smile carved into flesh, gaping open with a sickening, toothless grin. The hair, though, that was still there. Long lengths plastered to the thing’s head, thick with blood. He peeled it back a bit, and found a spot that hadn’t been completely soaked through with red.

She’d been blond. _Blond. Fuck._ Sam felt something break inside of him, and he turned hopeless, numb eyes towards his companion. “Becky,” Sam choked out. “Fuck, Bobby. He killed Rebecca, and Dean... Now he has Dean again.”

~o0O0o~

Sam didn’t remember much after that. Couldn’t bring himself to care as he sat rocking slightly on the bed, tears dripping harsh and ugly down the sides of his face. Bobby was making calls, trying to investigate, and Sam knew he should be helping, but all he could think was that everything he’d done so far had resulted in failure.

They had no leads left. The shifter had Dean and it was gone, nothing left to track. He knew Bobby had already called all of the hospitals in the area, but none of them had admitted to admitting a John Doe in the last 24 hours.

The shifter had lied after all.

It’d told him where Dean was, okay, but Sam certainly hadn’t been able to rescue him. Fuck. That’d been part of the deal. He wasn’t sure when he’d become so sure that the creature had been telling the truth about keeping its promise, but the betrayal that filled him over the broken deal was almost crippling.

Bobby suddenly threw the phone down on the other bed, startling him out of his thoughts. “Come on, Sam,” he groused, grabbing Sam by the hand. “You need a shower something awful. It’s already too late to save the bedspread.”

Sam allowed himself to be pulled up and looked down numbly. He was covered in drying blood, and he found himself wondering how Bobby had managed to get them back here without anyone noticing. The bed was smeared with the stuff pretty much everywhere Sam had touched it. At least it didn’t look like there was enough blood to have soaked through the top layer. If they pulled the spread off, he’d probably still be able to sleep there.

“Come on, boy,” Bobby muttered, urging him forward. “I’m gonna have to help you so you don’t damage your back any more than it already is.”

“No!” Sam yelled, irrational fury filling him from nowhere. “I’m fine! I don’t need your fucking help!” He stumbled to the bathroom and slammed the door in Bobby’s stunned face, locking it for good measure. “I’m fine.” He could clean himself. He didn’t need anyone looking after him. Nothing had happened. He was okay. He certainly didn’t need anyone worrying about him. Not now. Not ever.

Stiffly, he pulled his blood-soaked shirt over his head, and stared numbly at the ruined material. First Jess, now Zack’s little sister…

How many more of the people he’d grown to care about at Stanford would have to pay for allowing Sam into their lives?

He felt his eyes burn but let the shirt drop forgotten to the floor. Dean was the only person he could worry about right now.

He turned on the water.

~o0O0o~

Sam irritably drummed his fingers against the table. Yet another Internet search had turned up nothing. They were missing something, something obvious; he knew it in his bones. He shoved the computer away in disgust and got up from the chair, cursing when his back complained about the hunched position he’d demanded it maintain.

Bobby kept trying to insist on looking at it, on at least checking the stitches, but… Bobby needed to mind his own damn business sometimes. Sam didn’t want anyone looking at him. Not there. He knew it was healing. That’s all that really mattered. He opened the door and stepped outside. He couldn’t stay cooped up in the room anymore.

He gave a quick rap on the door to the next room. The day before he’d insisted on Bobby getting his own room, Sam just couldn’t deal with the man’s constant worrying and nagging. He was fine. They just needed to find Dean.

The door swung open. “You find anything?” Bobby asked without preamble.

“Not a damn thing. I need some air. I’m gonna go pick up some food,” Sam muttered. He kept his eyes glued to a worn spot on the door jam, uncomfortable with meeting Bobby’s eyes.

“Sure. Good idea,” Bobby replied. “I’ll drive you.”

“No,” Sam snapped. “I can damn well walk somewhere on my own.”

Bobby sighed, looking pained. “The shifter’s still out there somewhere. I don’t think it’s a good idea. Plus your wounds are still pretty fresh. You could tear something if you aren’t careful.”

“Yeah, well, fortunately for me, I don’t give a damn,” he snapped. He turned and started walking away, a part of him ashamed by his admittedly petulant attitude, but the larger part was so filled with impotent rage that he couldn’t bring himself to give a crap about a little childish behavior. He was holding it together. If a little snappishness on his part was the worst thing he did, well, Bobby could deal. It’s not like the man was having any better luck finding Dean then Sam was.

Fuck. The need to find his brother was almost suffocating. He couldn’t stop looking, but he was out of ideas. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, not until he knew Dean was safe.

He just needed Dean to be safe.

He reached the corner store and kept going. He wasn’t ready to stop yet.

His thoughts kept circling the same well-worn track. The shifter had seemingly vanished without a trace. Dean was nowhere to be found either, so, logically, he had to be with the shifter. The creature wouldn’t have bothered to leave Rebecca for him if he’d killed Dean... but then again, it wanted to _be_ Dean. Why take Dean with it if it was planning to live Dean’s life?

He kept walking aimlessly. The world buzzed on around him, but he stayed lost in his thoughts, looping over and over again on what he could be missing.

Time kept ticking on. He wasn’t really sure how much had passed, but suddenly his back burst into flame, his abused muscles refusing to let him move anymore. The spasms dropped him to his knees, landing him painfully on the cement. When he tried to push himself up, his bad shoulder refused to take his weight and he collapsed back down.

Someone, a man, a stranger, put a hand on his arm. “Sir, are you okay? Do you need help? I could call an ambulance – Mercy General is just around the corner.”

Sam shoved the man away with his good arm. “Get the fuck away from me!” he yelled.

The man looked startled at first, but that quickly changed to anger. “I was just trying to help. Fuck you,” the man replied. He turned and walked away.

Fuck… Sam waited out the spasm, breathing through the pain. He didn’t have time for some fucking scratches on his back to take him out of the action. He sucked in a breath, then another.

_Mercy General is just around the corner…_

The pain eased back a little, enough that Sam was able to ease himself up to sitting.

_No John Does…_

He staggered to his feet. People probably thought he was drunk.

_John Doe…_

They’d been assuming that if Dean had landed in a hospital that no one would have known who he was…

 _Fuck_. Dean was wanted by the cops, cops who thought he was a fucking serial killer. What if Dean wasn’t admitted as a John Doe? What if they knew exactly who he was and were purposely keeping it under wraps?

Sam struggled back up to his feet, his pain forgotten. He would have run if he could, but he moved as fast as his body would let him. This was what they’d been missing, he knew it.

~o0O0o~

Sam moved cautiously through the hallways, praying that the white lab coat he’d managed to ‘borrow’ kept away any curious glances. It had taken a while, but Sam had managed to check all of the likely wards on the first four floors, and now he was left standing in front of the doors to the ICU. Cold terror filled him at the thought of why Dean would need to be in the ICU. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to find Dean here or not. There were other hospitals. But if Dean was here, Sam was getting him out, one way or another.

He studied the clipboard he’d snatched, not quite leaning against the wall and hoping he didn’t look too obtrusive. The doors finally opened, and he risked a glance down the hallway. Down at the end, two cops stood guard outside of the last room.

He had to force himself not to run down the hallway shouting Dean’s name. Not that they could arrest Sam for anything, but being taken in for questioning again wouldn’t help anyone, and he didn’t want the cops being reminded that there was someone who might be organizing an escape attempt.

Elation filled him. For the first time in what felt like forever, something had gone right, and he probably shouldn’t be getting his hopes up so high, but he couldn’t help it; he’d found Dean.

~o0O0o~

Sharp, jerking coughs that seemed to shake his entire body yanked him out of surreal dreams once again. He moaned softly and blindly flailed his free hand around for water. Unremarkably, that didn’t accomplish much. His eyes felt crusted shut. Opening them seemed like a herculean effort.

He was still wearing an oxygen mask over his face, and he tried to take in some deep, slow breaths. Maybe it was optimistic thinking, but it seemed like maybe it was a little easier than it had been.

A light hand on his chest had him flinching back. No, no, no… please, let it be a nurse.

“You’re so beautiful, Dean,” Sam murmured, crushing Dean’s hopes instantly..

He forced his suddenly burning eyes open. Sam was standing over him.

Sam…

His thoughts tumbled around in his head, memories of hands sliding over his skin, touching him places that he… no, that had all been part of his fever dreams, hadn’t it?

…please, let that have just been a seriously fucked up dream…

Sam pushed the blankets down a little, exposing the top part of his chest, and strong fingers began stroking over his exposed skin. At some point during the last round of his fever-enhanced dreams, the top part of his hospital gown had disappeared, and he was left with only thin pajama bottoms and several blankets to keep him warm. The blankets were far too easy for Sam to push out of the way.

Sam’s gaze was covetous. Predatory.

Wrong.

He turned his head away, choking back a sob. Crying sure as shit wouldn’t accomplish anything, except to make his breathing even more difficult.

“Leave me alone,” Dean whispered hoarsely, barely audible through the damn mask. His right hand felt like dead weight so he reached up with his left hand and tried feebly to push away the unwelcome contact. His body was still completely devoid of strength. He quickly gave up and let his hand drop back down to his side, shaking with the small exertion. He could feel another cough building, and he desperately tried to suck in more oxygen to stave it off. The hellish fits hurt like a son of a bitch.

“Shhh… we’re okay, Dean. The cops outside were bribable. They’re letting me stay with you. You need to go back to sleep so you can recover.”

“No. I don’t want…” His voice was soft and muffled. He wasn’t even sure Sam had heard him.

“I’d be wearing your skin right now if I could. Fucking cops,” Sam muttered angrily. “Sam is strong and pretty, but he isn’t perfect. He isn’t you.” He, it, shifted uncomfortably.

The shifter, _not Sam_ , leaned in close and licked a stripe up the side of Dean’s face, making him flinch away. “Here,” it murmured, and Dean’s eyes widened at the sight of his pendant swinging in front of him. The creature slipped it around his neck and knotted it, and if Dean had had just a little more energy, he would have laid the fucking creature flat. As it was, all he could do was wrap his hand tightly around the precious pendant it to hide it from the repulsive creature’s view.

The creature placed his hand lightly over Dean’s clenched fist and Dean jerked his hand away, letting the pendant fall. “Fuck you,” he spat out.

“Sam loves you, you know,” the creature replied quietly. “He values you. Just like I do…”

“Shut up,” Dean begged quietly. Sam’s name on the creature’s lips was even more offensive than the thought of it wearing his necklace.

The mask was pulled up and an ice chip was deftly dropped into his mouth as soon as he opened his mouth. As the ice quickly melted, he couldn’t help the soft moan of pleasure at the slight relief.

“No, I can’t, Dean. You need to to hear this. Your fears were hurting you. We needed to know if we could trust Sam, so I showed you. I showed you what he was willing to do for us. I gave him the opportunity to prove his love for us once and for all, and he did it. He passed. I did that for you.”

Dean’s heart tumbled over itself, and his gaze swung unerringly back to the creature, his anger palpable. “You’re a sick freak of nature,” he rasped out. His eyes were burning again, and he felt nausea trying to crawl its way out of his throat. He still didn’t know where his brother was, if Sam was even okay.

His free hand was suddenly pushed into a thick cuff and locked in place before he could react. “What?” he whispered, looking down the length of his arm and then back up at the creature wearing his brother’s face.

“Sorry,” it murmured as Dean yanked belatedly, futilely, at his trapped limb. It stroked over the cuff lovingly. “The cops had these put in so you couldn’t be spirited away. I thought I heard one of them coming in.” It smiled. “And of course, we can’t let them know that we have a key.”

“Fuck you,” he whispered. A chill swept through him; he could feel the fine tremors shaking through his body and he could feel the damp of his fever oozing from his pores. “Cold.” Please put the blankets back, he added silently, unable to keep the begging from his thoughts.

“Shhh…” it whispered. Dean couldn’t help feeling just a little bit grateful when the blankets were pulled up to his chin, but the momentary feeling of relief slipped away when the creature slid a hand back under them almost immediately, playing over the damp skin just above the waistband of his pants.

His head was starting to throb, and he suspected he was going to pass out before not too much longer; it was getting hard to think again. He wished he could just stay asleep this time. He didn’t want to be awake; his odd dreams were so much better than this waking nightmare.

Sam leaned in close. “I should leave,” he whispered, lips close enough to brush Dean’s skin as he spoke. Dean was too tired to pull away. “I _should_ just kill the both of you before I do, but… you’ve completely captivated me, Dean. You’re forcing me to break all my rules. I think, if you were gone, if I couldn’t be you anymore, I… I think maybe I’d die. I’ve never felt this kind of affinity for anyone before.”

The thing’s hand slipped below Dean’s waistband and brushed over Dean’s dick.

“Please, stop,” he whispered, losing control of the cough that had been waiting just below the surface. He coughed until he couldn’t breathe, and somehow, by the time he thought he might get it back under control, Sam had managed to sit on the head of the bed with Dean’s head cradled in his lap.

He placed more chips in Dean’s mouth as the coughing finally subsided, and Dean was pretty sure the moisture was worth the brief interruptions in oxygen. He sucked in the rich air greedily through his nose as he tried to get his shallow breathing back under control.

Sam leaned forward, and his long arm snaked down under the blankets again, easily maneuvering to cup over his groin once more. “I think,” he, no it, _it_ mused, as if nothing had interrupted them. “I think I’m going to have to let them take you.”

Dean jerked up, his eyes meeting Sam’s. What the fuck did that mean? Who?

“The cops,” it answered, as if Dean had spoken aloud. “The cops want to put you in prison. Once you are safely contained, I’ll be able to take over your life. I… won’t have Sam with me,” it added regretfully, “but, at least I’d be you.

“I could be you…”

The thing trailed off almost dreamily, its hand continuing its tug and pull over Dean’s soft flesh. The one nice benefit to being a side of road-kill plus lots of drugs – it wasn’t so easy for him to get aroused. Not like his brother touching him there, even something that just looked like his brother, would ever get him off. Still, the unwanted touch was disturbing in its own right.

He whimpered, his head shaking a small denial as he fought to stay awake. The thought of the thing touching his body while he slept, while he was completely defenseless, instead of just mostly defenseless, was pretty unbearable.

“Shhh…” it whispered, “I’ll be gone soon, another day or two at most. I just want to enjoy our last moments together. Go to sleep. I’ll take care of you.”

A sharp sting against his skin, just below the waistband of his pants, caught him off guard and he hissed in a breath. The well of blood from the fresh cut tickled over his skin. The blankets were pushed down again, leaving him exposed, and Sam folded over him, his mouth latching onto the small wound to suck and lick at the blood.

The room started to spin. Dean felt his consciousness slip away.

~o0O0o~

“Did you do it?” Sam asked as soon as he felt Bobby’s presence behind him. He couldn’t take his eyes of the closed doors of the ICU.

“Yeah. Got it in both of their cups. Did he come back with them?”

“’Bout twenty minutes ago. Shouldn’t be long now.”

“We should wait some more,” Bobby groused.

“No.”

“Damn it, Sam, your brother almost died three times over: near drowning, hypothermia, pneumonia, take your pick,” Bobby snapped back angrily. “He needs more than four days in the hospital to recover from that.”

“We’ve been over this, Bobby, “ Sam whispered back irritably. “We can’t risk the cops deciding he’s well enough to transfer to a prison ward. And that thing is still out there somewhere. We don’t know if it’s coming back. Dean can’t wait anymore. It’s not an option. You know that.”

Bobby sighed, but thankfully he didn’t say anything else. Sam’s nerves were frayed enough as it was, and the bravado he’d been maintaining in front of the man might not withstand much more battering.

One of the cops suddenly exited the ICU, looking a little green and more than a little frantic. He quickly moved to the unisex bathroom at the end of the hall and slammed the door behind him. One down.

A couple minutes later, the other one came rushing out. He ran to the same restroom and tugged on the door, then started banging on it when he couldn’t get it open. Sam could just make out the pathetic sounding moan that echoed out in response. The second cop didn’t wait, just turned and rushed around the corner and down the hallway toward the larger set of bathrooms Sam knew were at the other end. The man looked mortified, and Sam could already see a spreading stain on his backside as he rushed away.

Bobby had darted forward as soon as the cop had appeared, catching the door to the ICU to keep it from locking. He pulled out the small black remote that he’d gotten from someone named Ash. Sam wasn’t sure what the thing was supposed to do, but the contact had promised it would make a significant distraction. Bobby brushed a finger over it… and suddenly medical alarms went off in several of the small ICU rooms, a chorus of discordant beeps and hums.

Shit, Sam hoped they hadn’t turned off any vital machines for someone, but it was too late to worry about that now. The ICU became a bustle of activity in an instant, like ants swarming out of a flooded hill, and he and Bobby quickly made their way down to the last room.

Sam was shaking. Bobby’d managed to get in to confirm it was Dean and get a look at the charts, but Sam’s face was known. They hadn’t wanted to risk him getting caught, so he hadn’t been able to get in to see for himself. He took a moment to brace himself, and then moved into the room.

Sam’s breath caught in his throat as soon as his brother was revealed, and fear made his vision blur. Dean looked like crap, dark circles under his shadowed eyes, and a gaunt, grey look to his face that had never been there before. There were plastic tubes sticking out of him in several places and he had one of those canulas in his nose. He looked almost small against the stark white sheets, and impossibly young. Vulnerable. The head of the bed was tipped up, and he was looking around blearily, as though the commotion had woken him up. Sam felt a surge of emotion far too complicated to sort out in the short time they had.

He rushed forward, calling out, “Dean!” as he raised his arms to embrace his brother.

“Get the fuck away from me!” Dean growled out, low and threatening, bringing Sam up short.

“What?” Sam whispered, jerking back, the fear that suddenly pounded through his chest an almost instinctive reaction to the threat in his brother’s voice.

Dean was pulling back against the restraints that Sam hadn’t noticed when he’d entered, and Dean looked scared, no, no, he looked _terrified_ , of Sam.

Sam swallowed, his throat suddenly desert dry. He floundered, and his brain shut down. They stared at each other for several long seconds, Sam panicking that he’d done something horribly wrong to Dean that he didn’t even remember, before his errant brain clicked back on line. Oh. They were both afraid and skittish of each other. The shifter had probably… his stomach fell to his feet. He couldn’t go there. Not right now. If he did he’d go insane, and then he’d be thrown into an asylum and forgotten, and Dean would be shoved into prison with some big hairy dude named Buba – an inglorious end to two would-be heroes.

His thoughts remained reasonably logical, even though he felt like a rat trapped in a maze. He snorted, a little on the manic side, and Dean was looking at him more suspiciously by the moment. Finally, he managed to blurt out, “It’s me, Sam. I’m not the shifter, Dean. Bobby’s out in the hallway getting a chair. We’re getting you out of here.”

Dean’s expression didn’t change.

Sam took a step closer, and Dean just watched him warily. He took another and reached the bed, then crouched down and started working the restraints open. He swore when he discovered there were actual locks on the damn things, and fumbled out a pick.

The cold look Dean was giving him didn’t change, but Sam thought maybe Dean’s posture relaxed slightly as Sam worked.

Bobby came in, wheelchair in hand. He pushed it up to the side of the bed just as Sam snapped the first of the cuffs open. He moved around to the other side of the bed to tackle Dean’s other arm. There was a weighty looking cast covering Dean’s wrist, hand and forearm. His right hand. Shit. The restraint was secured above the plaster instead of over it. Sam had a sudden image of Dean pulling his broken bones free of the cast in order to slip the restraints. He wasn’t sure you could actually get a cast off your arm that way.

“Bobby?” Dean breathed out, his eyes suddenly brimming with tears, and that was a sight Sam never wanted to see. Sam’s big brother was strong enough to handle anything. That lost look he was sporting had no business residing on his chiseled features.

It startled Sam back into focusing on unlocking the stupid cuff.

“Yeah, son. It’s me,” Bobby replied. “I heard what Sam said while I was getting the chair. Don’t know where the shifter is, but it ain’t in this room. I can vouch for that. Okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Dean muttered, his sharp gaze swinging back toward Sam immediately, assessing. Sam’s hands were seriously unsteady, and guilty sweat was beading on his brow under Dean’s silent stare, but he kept working. A few moments later, Dean was free. He took a slow breath. He needed to pull himself together, or Dean was going to start asking questions Sam wasn’t prepared to answer.

“Can you sit up?” Sam asked.

Dean nodded and struggled to right himself. Sam put his hand on Dean’s shoulder and pulled him forward... his fingers slid against a familiar length of cord against Dean’s neck. Sam’s heart skipped a beat.

_No._

His gaze tracked it over Dean’s shoulder and down his back, unerringly finding the pendent at the end. It had slipped to the back while Dean’d been lying down, so Sam hadn't noticed it when they had come in.

Another painful beat through his chest sent him lurching backwards off the bed, plastering himself against the far wall. He wanted to run, but he wasn’t sure his legs would support him if he did. He closed his eyes, struggling to suck enough air into his burning lungs. This couldn’t be happening. They’d found Dean, he’d been so sure...

A thud and Bobby’s colorful swearing forced Sam’s eyes open. The creature had pulled itself free of the wires and tubes and had landed in a graceless heap on the floor.

Bobby was bending over it, looking concerned.

“Not Dean!” Sam finally manage to gasp out in warning.

“What?” Bobby snapped, looking back at the creature, alarmed.

“Sam, no. It’s me. I swear. I’m Dean!” The creatures words were tripping over the thing’s lips in an endless stream, and Sam would have cut off his ears in that moment if it meant he’d never have to hear those lies again. Sam’s gaze locked on the floor near his feet. At least he didn’t have to look at it.

“Sam!” Bobby’s sharp bark snapped Sam’s eyes back to find Bobby holding Dean’s good arm tightly, a small, ornate dagger pressed against the skin. A small jerk and bright red blood welled up from the fine line it traced. “Knife’s silver. This is Dean,” Bobby pronounced.

Shit. But... “The necklace,” Sam breathed out. “The creature had Dean’s pendent...”

Understanding spread across Dean’s face and he reached up and jerked the thing off. “It was here, Sam. It said it was taking off a few hours ago, but it was here with me at the hospital. It gave this back to me a couple days ago. I’m me, I swear. It’s me.”

Sam reached up and pressed trembling fingers against his burning eyes, willing himself to calm the fuck down.

“Here, take it. Put it in my bags when we get out of here. I’ll decide what to do with the damn thing later,” Dean was mumbling at Bobby.

“We have to get out of here,” Sam whispered, finally getting his breathing a little bit more under control.

“Damn straight,” Bobby mumbled. He pulled Dean up and got him into the chair with an audible heave.

“Okay,” Sam muttered tiredly. He grabbed a blanket off the bed and covered Dean’s legs. He couldn’t quite make himself meet his brother’s eyes. But they’d be okay. If they got out of here, everything would be fine. Sam forced himself to move forward.

Miracle of miracles, getting him the rest of the way out of the hospital was as smooth as they could have hoped.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean had passed out in the back seat almost as soon as they’d gotten in the car. Sam let Bobby drive so he could keep an eye on his brother. It still sounded like Dean was having trouble breathing, and Sam didn’t like the sound of his cough, but, according to his charts, they’d finished the course of intravenous antibiotics and Dean had been responding well to them.

He reached over the seat and snatched up his brother’s left hand, holding the calloused skin in his own, despite the nerves that sang over his skin with the action. This was Dean, his brother. Dean would never hurt him. Sam carefully placed Dean’s hand back across his chest and let go of it. Dean wouldn’t want them to hold hands anyway; he’d probably accuse Sam of being a girl.

Sam turned forward and watched the car eat up the road. He was shaking, and his mouth was dry. “Bobby, could you pull over?” He nodded towards the gas station coming up on the right.

“You sure that’s a good idea?” Bobby replied. “We do have a suspected mass murderer in the back seat, and given how rough he’s breathin’, I don’t think covering him up is a great idea.”

“Please…” Sam was starting to hyperventilate, his breaths coming out in short bursts. He just needed some damned air, needed to not feel trapped in the car for a few lousy minutes. Couldn’t Bobby see that?

Bobby didn’t say anything else, but he did pull into a spot on the far side of the lot.

Sam slipped out of the car as soon as it stopped, walking across the gravel lot toward the grimy looking restrooms. He’d gotten Dean back. Everything was supposed to be okay now. Dean was back. He entered the single stall bathroom and locked the door behind him, stepping up to the cracked mirror over the stained sink. Unable to stand his reflection staring back at him, he looked down, and turned on the water, letting it run for a couple of minutes before filling his cupped hands and splashing it over his face.

Everything was fine.

He couldn’t face leaving the confines of the dirty room. Nausea worked its way up his throat and he stepped over to the dirty toilet. He crouched down and wretched over it, but nothing came up. Maybe because he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten anything. He flushed it anyway and moved back to the door, his hand resting on the knob.

He couldn’t turn it.

He was being an idiot.

He’d gotten Dean back, damn it. The shifter didn’t get to win. Anger tightened his grip, and the knob turned. He pushed the door open and walked outside into the bright sun. He could do this.

Everything was fine.

~o0O0o~

Dean was coughing again, deep rattling barks that sounded like he was trying to lose a lung. To Sam’s hyper-focused mind, it sounded like his lungs were getting worse. The car felt little better than a cage, keeping him from doing anything productive for his brother. “Bobby, we need to stop, get Dean into a proper bed so he can sleep more comfortably.”

“Not sure that’s a good idea,” Bobby replied slowly. He shook his head. “I think we should get at least a couple states over before we stop. Unless you wanna ditch the car somewhere. You know it makes you boys pretty conspicuous.”

“No!” Sam replied over Bobby’s final sentence, anger immediately raging. The man didn’t even glance Sam’s way, just kept his eyes fixed on the road. “We aren’t leaving this car anywhere. Not unless Dean says it’s okay.”

Bobby sighed heavily. “Well, I reckon that’s gonna be pretty hard to find out,” he drawled sarcastically. “You know, given that he’s unconscious and all.”

Sam glanced back at his brother. The cough seemed to have subsided for the moment, and Dean was back to short wheezing breaths. He looked like death warmed over – it certainly didn’t look like he was waking up any time soon.

“Just find a motel that has a parking lot that’s off the road. We’re far enough away. It’ll be fine.”

“Stubborn as an ass in heat…” Bobby muttered under his breath.

Sam snorted and grit his teeth, looking out the window. He wished Bobby was gone. Dean was back. They didn’t need the man anymore, except that the thought of him leaving left Sam shaking. He didn’t know what the fuck he wanted.

Thirty minutes later, Sam let out a relieved breath when Bobby finally pulled into a roadside motel. He circled around to the back of the building and stopped the car. The ticking of the cooling engine sounded like a time bomb, waiting to destroy everything around them.

“I’ll get us a room. Stay here. Of the three of us, my mug’s the least likely to be staring back at me from an FBI’s most wanted poster.”

“’Kay,” Sam muttered, his attention going immediately back to Dean. He turned around and reached over the seat to pat his brother on the cheek a couple of times. “Dean? You with us? We’re getting a room.”

Dean stirred, and almost immediately his uneven breathing changed to wet hacking sounds. Sam grabbed a water bottle and climbed halfway over the front seat so he could support Dean’s head and hold the bottle to Dean’s lips.

“Sammy?” Dean asked, his voice shredded and whisper quiet. He took a little of the water into his mouth and then pushed the bottle away.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re okay, Dean,” Sam replied. “Bobby and I got you out of the hospital. We’re stopping at a motel so we can get you a little more comfortable.”

There was a long moment of what would have been silence, if Dean’s rough breathing hadn’t precluded that possibility, and then Dean wheezed out, “The shifter?”

Sam felt his lungs constrict in his chest. He didn’t want to think about the creature ever again, wanted to just pretend it didn’t exist and move on with their lives. “The shifter’s d…” _dead_. The lie caught on his lips and he choked it back somehow. He couldn’t let Dean believe the creature was dead – if it ever came back…

“It’s… we don’t know where it is, but, I don’t think it knows where we are either, so that’s a good thing. We should be safe enough for the time being,” Sam finally mumbled reluctantly.

“Sammy, I…”

Sam’s heart was suddenly beating a mile a minute; he didn’t want to hear whatever Dean was about to say. His stomach twisted and he jerked back, letting his brother’s head go abruptly. The car door was open before he could process his actions, and he looked up to see Bobby walking back towards the car.

“Okay, got us a room,” Bobby called out. “Let me open it up and then you can help me get Sleeping Beauty inside.”

“I can do it,” Sam replied, immediately turning back to the car, relieved for the distraction.

“Oh, good idea. Then I can redo all the busted stitches in your back for savin’ me the trouble. No thanks. Your brother may have dropped some weight since I last saw ‘im, but he’s still a damn sight too heavy for you to be liften’ on your own. Just give me a minute.” Bobby turned toward the motel door to fumble with the lock. As he did so, Sam was pretty sure he heard the word, “Idjit,” mumbled under his breath.

While Bobby dealt with the room, Sam opened up the trunk and pulled out their bags, tossing them on the ground one at a time before closing her back up. Bobby snorted his approval when he came back out, snatching up two of them and letting Sam trail behind with the third.

Sam was sweating and breathing hard by the time they got everything secured in the room and Dean safely ensconced in one of the beds.

Bobby moved over and took the other bed, pulling his shoes off and tossing them to the side, clearly expecting Sam to share with Dean… which… should have been perfectly fine. As long as Bobby had known them, sharing a bed had never really been an issue. Dean was still feverish, still shivering off and on. He’d probably appreciate the extra body heat. Except… Sam thought about pointing out how much bigger he’d gotten since the last time they’d visited Bobby, but… okay, who was he kidding? He wasn’t in any mood to sleep anyway.

Sam grabbed a chair, moved it close to Dean’s bed and wearily lowered himself into it. “I’m gonna stay up and keep an eye on him,” Sam mumbled, cutting Bobby off as the man opened his mouth to say something. “Get some sleep, and you can take over after you’ve slept some.”

Bobby looked like he was going to protest. Their eyes met and locked, and Sam figured his jumbled emotions must have shown on his face because after a moment Bobby seemed to think better of it. The man shook his head, lay back on the bed and was asleep almost immediately.

Sam looked back at Dean. At that moment, Sam couldn’t quite imagine ever sleeping again.

~o0O0o~

Low moans and whimpers shivered over Dean’s skin in the darkness.

“Knock it off, don’t you realize you’ve got an audience?” Dean called out.

The sounds of heated breaths and the fevered rub of sweat slick bodies didn’t alter.

“Hey, I’m here!” he shouted loudly. “You wanna knock that shit off?”

Dean got up and, arms out in front of him in the pitch dark, moved towards the sounds. He managed to stumbled awkwardly against the bed and reached out blindly. His hands quickly encountered writhing, naked, muscled skin. He flailed around a bit and his hand wrapped around overheated flesh. He thought, hoped, that he’d found somebody’s arm, and pulled at it… which accomplished absolutely nothing. If anything, the pulsing rhythm quickened.

“Hey! Stop! I’m trying to sleep here!” he yelled.

“God, Sammy. You feel so good…” one of the men moaned from the bed. It was… it was his voice.

He took an involuntary step back from the bed, but despite the distance, despite the surreal separation between them, he could feel the hard planes of Sam’s body under him, could feel the trembling of his younger brother’s naked flesh in his arms.

His body was moving of its own accord. Hard planes to soft, sweat-slicked crevices, he couldn’t stop his thorough exploration of his brother’s body. Revulsion filled him, but had no effect on his actions. His hand wrapped around his brother’s soft dick and started pulling it to hardness. Tears filled his eyes and fell on his brother with soft splashes, but still he couldn’t stop.

“God, Sam, love you so much,” he murmured.

His brother arched up into his touch even as his head turned away. “Stop, fuck, just stop, please,” Sam begged him.

Dean was desperate to obey, but he was completely out of control, his body wasn’t his own anymore, despite the fact that he could feel everything it was doing. “Sammy,” he whispered against Sam’s ear. “God, I’ve wanted you like this so bad. Wanted you forever…”

Dean lined his hard dick up against Sam’s ass.

“Don’t…” Sam whispered brokenly.

Dean pushed in anyway, one long, powerful thrust that couldn’t be denied.

Sam screamed.

“No!” Dean sat bolt upright in bed, his face wet, his eyes swollen and burning with tears as he tried to suck air into his laboring lungs.

“Dean?” Bobby asked, suddenly appearing in the bathroom doorway. “You okay, Son?”

Dean couldn’t force a response from his clenched throat. No… no… that lying sack of shit… He didn’t want that. He’d _never_ wanted that…

The bed sagged a bit and Bobby’s arms wrapped around him. Dean sank into the embrace, his sobs harsh and ugly. Bobby just rocked him slowly, not saying anything. Sam must completely hate him now. He’d never stay after what had happened, and Dean wouldn’t be able to blame him this time. Sam… where…

He jerked himself free of Bobby’s arms, looking around frantically. “Where’s Sam?” he demanded.

Bobby dropped his arms, but didn’t get up. “I sent him out for some supplies a little bit ago. Boy was gettin’ twitchy from being cooped up in here for so long. You’ve pretty much done nothin’ but sleep the last three days.”

Three days? It didn’t feel like it’d been that long. He had vague recollections of getting out of the hospital, of waking up in a darkened motel room, of needing support to get himself to the bathroom and irritating demands to drink watery, lukewarm soup, but not much else.

He forced his shaking legs over the side of the bed. “I need to go find him.”

“Like hell you do,” Bobby growled, pulling Dean back down. “Your fever may have broken, and your cough is finally sounding a little better, but you’ve been knocked down for more’n a week, and you’re in no condition to be wandering the neighborhood, even if every cop in the state _wasn’t_ hunting for your ass.”

“Bobby,” Dean moaned out miserably, “You don’t understand, I…”

“I understand more than you think,” Bobby growled. “I know that shifter did something fierce to you boys, but it don’t change my points about you gettin’ out of bed right now. Your brother’ll be back soon…” Bobby’s voice trailed off as they heard a key jangle outside the door. “Speak of the devil,” Bobby mumbled, and stood up.

The door swung open and Sam stepped inside, pulling back the hood that had been mostly obscuring his face. “Dean?” he asked, his eyes widening. “I… you’re awake. How are you feeling? Are you…” Sam paused, studying Dean’s face for a minute. “Is everything okay?”

Dean’s dream, his all too real memories of Sam’s voice, it all came flooding back over Dean in a long wave of pain. He couldn’t… he didn’t know how… sitting on the bed and crying pathetically when Sam was the one who’d… and now Sam was looking at Dean like Dean was the one that mattered. _Fuck_. He couldn’t come up with a response, could only rub self-consciously at his eyes.

“Think I’ll go take a bit of a break myself,” Bobby muttered into the silence.

Sam and Dean both watched him go without comment. The door closed. Sam swallowed and rocked slightly on his feet, looking like he wanted to bolt. Dean started to get up, preparing to go to him.

Suddenly Sam’s face smoothed, and a fake smile was plastered on. “So, I got you some more soup, and we scored a microwave from the Salvation Army store a few blocks away. You ready for me to heat some up for you?” Sam didn’t wait for a response, moving immediately over to the counter to fumble open bags and pull out cans.

“Sam…”

The scrape of a lid being pulled off and the plopping noise of liquid being poured out was his only response.

“Sam,” Dean tried again. “Stop with the damn soup already. We need to talk.”

The fumbling continued. The microwave was opened and the soup put in. Sam started it up and then turned around, leaning casually against the dresser top. He didn’t fool Dean for a second.

“Sam,” Dean asked, trying unsuccessfully to meet Sam’s darting eyes. “What happened? I… I don’t remember much,” he fibbed.

Sam shrugged, “I followed the shifter around for a few days, and it led me to your location, but you were already in the hospital at that point. Bobby and I tracked you down there and we broke you out.” Sam turned around and stared fixedly at the seconds ticking down on the old appliance.

“That’s… it… it didn’t hurt you?” Dean stammered out.

“I think it was pretty fixated on hurting you,” Sam evaded. The bell dinged. Sam pulled out the mug, brought it over to the bed and held it out to Dean.

Dean took it, watching his brother warily. “So, nothing…”

“How are you feeling?” Sam spoke over him.

A cough suddenly crawled its way out of Dean’s throat, and Sam had to grab the mug before he spilled soup all over himself.

“Here, drink this,” Sam said, holding out an opened bottle of water.

Dean took it gratefully and swallowed down a good portion before his coughing eased. The soup was shoved back into his hand, traded for the bottle since Dean’s right was so annoyingly out of commission. “Guess that answers that question,” Sam muttered. “You drink that. I need to take a quick shower.”

Without waiting for a response, Sam turned and headed into the small room.

“Sam,” Dean called out, standing up as quickly as he could.

The door shut, and the lock clicked, causing Dean to flinch. He sank back down to the bed, feeling lost.

A moment later the water came on. Sam didn’t come out for a long time.

~o0O0o~

Sam opened the door to the motel room reluctantly and stepped inside, bracing himself for the possibility that Bobby was still out and Dean was awake. Dean was clearly getting better, but he was still exhausted, which meant he was still sleeping a lot. He was like a dog after a bone, though. Every damn time he woke up, he tried to ask Sam questions that Sam was in no way prepared to answer. He couldn’t quite figure out where his grin-and-bear-it brother had gone, ‘cause this new one seemed to be all about the heart to heart. So far, Sam had been able to dodge Dean. Thank God Bobby was here running interference, even if the man seemed clearly aware of, and somewhat annoyed by, Sam’s use of him.

What they needed was a distraction. A hunt. Just a normal, simple, straightforward hunt to get Dean’s attention off of him. Then they’d be able to move past all this. His eyes gradually adjusted to the dim room after the brightness of the sun outside, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he made out that Dean was sleeping again. Bobby’d left before Sam, and he wasn’t back yet, so the room was quiet as Sam moved carefully over to the laptop and fired it up.

Dean coughed, making Sam jump about two feet. _Fuck, get a grip already…_ He looked at Dean, who was still coughing and blearily looking around, like he’d been so down for the count that he’d forgotten where he was. Dean clumsily snatched up the water bottle that was sitting on the bedside table with his left hand and fumbled it open, taking a long drink. He had to stop once or twice to fight his cough long enough to get some more, but when he finally lowered the bottle his cough seemed to have eased.

Sam looked away and focused intently on the laptop again, hoping Dean would decide not to interrupt him. He pulled up the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, which came up quickly enough that he could scan the headlines before Dean launched in on him again.

The top headline had Sam sucking in a sharp breath.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked from the bed.

“The headline on the Dispatch says they have the ‘Slasher Killer’ in custody.”

Dean scooted closer on the bed. “What, you mean they have the shifter in custody?”

“I… don’t know,” Sam mumbled, skimming through the article. “They’re saying it’s some guy named Alexander Doges. It says here that he was caught in the act with his fifth victim. Apparently there was another murder while you were in the hospital, and there’s evidence to tie this guy to all five crimes… and the police are now admitting to making a mistake with the original manhunt. Holy shit, Dean, I think you’re cleared.”

Sam turned to look at Dean, but his brother looked pretty far from happy. “What’s… wrong?”

“Do you really think it’s the shifter they have in custody?” Dean asked.

“Well, they caught him in the act. Seems like a strong possibility…”

“Okay, let’s suppose it is the shifter they have. You really think they’re going to be able to hold on to him? And if it isn’t the shifter, then some poor innocent schmuck is taking the fall for the shifter’s murders and we’re back where we started when it was Zack.”

“I don’t… Look, maybe Bobby knows somebody else that could take this on. I don’t think we’re in any shape to confront that thing again. I’ll admit I was thinking of finding us a new hunt, but I was going to try to find something pretty simple and straightforward.”

“I don’t know, Sam. I don’t,” Dean sucked in a deeper breath. “I don’t think this is over yet. This is why I keep bugging you to talk about it. We need to figure out where we are, and we aren’t going to be able to do that if we don’t start sharing intel. Right? Unless you have something you aren’t telling me for some reason…”

“No!” Sam yelped, flinching at the way his voice broke. Real smooth. He forced his voice back down to normal and added quickly, “I mean, I’m not keeping things from you. There just isn’t a whole lot to tell.”

Dean’s face was inscrutable. “So why don’t we start at the beginning. I found Becky in the sewers.”

Sam felt his throat close up at the mention of Zack’s sister. Zack probably still didn’t know what had happened to her – unless the authorities had found and identified the body, which seemed unlikely.

Dean kept talking, oblivious to Sam’s pain. “We figured the thing was using her face and went back to her place looking for you. The creature was there – strangling you. When I came in it, it used you as a shield so I couldn’t get a clear shot, and then it fired something at me that knocked me on my ass. I woke up chained in the sewers again. What happened after that?”

Sam gave a quick, longing look at the door, wishing that Bobby would walk in and provide a distraction. He seemed to be out of luck though. He turned back and Dean was watching him intently. He let his mind race ahead, trying to figure out how much he could admit to without landing on a bomb. “I woke up in a motel room. I thought I was with you at first, but it gave itself away pretty quickly. I tried to fight it, but it overpowered me, and then… I think it drugged me.” Sam took a breath, the memory of being at that thing’s mercy crawling over him like ants. Bile burned at the back of his throat and he had to swallow a couple of times before he found his voice again.

“When I woke up the second time, it was still wearing your face. It… told me that it wanted to pretend to be you for a while. I think maybe it was just bored. It showed me a live stream of you, and told me that if I went along with it, if I… pretended it was you, that it would tell me where you were as soon as we finished the hunt. I agreed.” Dean must be thinking he was a complete idiot by now. Sweat was beading his brow, and he wiped at it absently. He got up to fumble with the air conditioner, and the relief of not having to look at his brother anymore calmed him enough to continue. “When the hunt was over, it gave me your location, but when we got there… you’d been found and moved to the hospital. Took us a couple of days to find you…

“That’s it,” he added when Dean looked at him expectantly.

“That’s it,” Dean repeated skeptically.

“Dean, it sounds like there’s something specific you want me to say, but I don’t know what it is. If you don’t like what you’re hearing, why don’t you try being a little more specific with your questions?”

Dean looked away, his posture broadcasting his discomfort. “It’s just… the thing was wearing my face for days, pretending to be me. Forgive me if I’d like to know the details.”

“But… he… it… it wasn’t you, Dean. It wasn’t. It… killed people. It was nothing like you. It wasn’t you…” Sam cleared his throat and looked away when he realized Dean was giving him an odd look. His eyes were burning, and he didn’t even know why, just knew he wanted this conversation over. He had to… he needed to leave.

“He killed people?” Dean suddenly cut into his thoughts, his response a little after the fact, like it had taken him a minute to process what Sam had said.

“Yeah,” Sam said quietly. “Every time I…” He cut himself off, embarrassment squeezing his stomach and making him flush. “If it didn’t like how the hunt was going, it killed people, innocents, who were involved with the case. Or at least it threatened to. Killed some guy named Murphy that we met on the first day. It kept threatening to go after Laurie, the girl that the Hook Man was manifesting for, and I think it fucked up on purpose at the end. Both her and her father ended up dead. And maybe one or two others, I’m not sure. And then… it killed Becky – left her body in the sewers where it had been keeping you. I found her when we…”

And now the tears really were spilling over, even though Sam felt kind of numb.

Dean got up unsteadily, using the dresser to brace himself. He came towards Sam, letting go of the furniture at the last moment to reach out a hand… Sam staggered back so fast he almost fell over his feet. “I… I just…” he stammered, “I need some air. I’ll be back.”

With that, Sam turned and fled the room.

~o0O0o~

Dean sat down heavily on the closest chair. He wanted to go after Sam, but there was no way he’d be able to physically catch up to his brother at this point. He was already shaking just from moving around the room.

He dropped his face into his hands, or at least, he tried to – the cast brought him up short. He glared at the dirty white plaster. “This fucking sucks!” he yelled into the empty room. Why’d the creature have to bust his right? And the thing had murdered with his face… they weren’t even sure how many times, but all those people had cursed Dean as they died. His life just kept getting better and better.

Sam clearly wasn’t going to volunteer what had happened between him and the creature. Dean didn’t have the faintest clue what to do about that. He wasn’t a god damned psychiatrist. His gut told him that telling Sam what he’d been forced to hear was a bad plan though.

God, Sam was only 22, still pretty much a kid. If Dean was feeling this lost, he could only imagine what his little brother was going through. What it had done to Sam… for the first time in his life, he thought maybe he could understand the driving need for revenge that drove his dad and his brother to distraction. A part of him believed that there was nothing that could fix things between him and his brother, and it filled him with emptiness. Nothing else mattered except finding and killing that… that thing. Nothing else mattered, because it had taken everything important away from him.

He rubbed at his face, his tears echoing Sam’s.

Of course, Bobby chose that moment to come in. “You okay?” he asked, coming over to Dean with concern filling his kind eyes.

“Yeah, yeah… I just… I think…” he sighed, knowing his incoherence was only worrying Bobby more. He pulled the laptop over. “Look at the headlining article. Says they’ve got the killer in custody. Looks like I’m off the suspect list.”

Bobby glanced at Dean with surprise before pulling the laptop a little closer and reading through the article. “Wonder what it’s playing at…” Bobby muttered.

“I wish I knew, Bobby. I know it’s still wandering around out there with my face though. Or at least it will be soon. I don’t think they could keep something like that in jail.”

“Huh.” Bobby stood up and moved to the other chair. “So, you got any idea what you wanna do about it?”

“I’m… I’m not sure there’s anything we can do, except keep an eye out. Maybe monitor the Internet for any signs. I don’t think we’re going to be able to catch it at this point if it doesn’t want us to.”

Bobby didn’t say anything and Dean, suddenly positive this was what they needed, blurted out, “I think you should head home. I’m… I can’t thank you enough for helping Sam and me, but, I think we need to be back on our own for a while.”

“Dean, you still ain’t well, and with that creature…”

“Look,” Dean interrupted, “What happened between that creature and Sam… it was bad…”

Bobby didn’t look surprised and he didn’t argue.

“I just… I think as long as you’re around, Sam’s going to keep pretending everything is okay. I need him to open up to me. I need to try to fix this somehow.”

Bobby nodded slowly. “What if you can’t fix it? I’m thinking maybe you know more’n I do at this point, but what I do know… it’s not good, Dean, and that boy is channeling your father, as much as he’s suppressing.”

“What… what do you…”

“I don’t think it’s my place to tell. You wanna tell me what you know?”

“Not really.”

Bobby stood up and placed a heavy hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Just promise me you boys are going to be careful, and you give a shout if you need anything, okay?”

Dean put his hand over Bobby’s and patted it softly. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Bobby just hmmed wearily and started gathering his things.

~o0O0o~

Sam stopped at the door, sweating and breathing heavily from his run. He hadn’t wanted to come back. There had been a while where he’d contemplated just running straight ahead and not stopping, but he hadn’t been able to do it. Dean needed him right now, and as pathetic as his help might be, he was still better than nothing. Plus, Dean never would have stopped hunting for him, and if he thought things were awkward between them now…

He put his hand on the door and idly fingered the cold metal. It was rough with rust in places. He needed a shower. That was okay. He didn’t need to talk to Dean yet. He turned the handle and felt his heart rate increase. He was being ridiculous. He needed to get the fuck over himself. He pushed the door open, intent on moving straight into the bathroom, but something didn’t add up right and he came to an abrupt halt a couple of feet from the door.

“Where’s Bobby’s stuff?” he demanded when his brain finally supplied him with what was wrong.

“He left.”

“What?” Sam snapped his gaze to Dean’s. “Why?”

“Because I told him to,” Dean replied levelly.

“Okay. Question still stands.”

“I’m getting better. You haven’t slept in days. Figured Bobby had better things to do than read you a bedtime story and watch you sleep.”

“But… we still haven’t tracked down the shifter.” Sam was beginning to hyperventilate. He needed Bobby here, damn it.

“Yeah, and we probably won’t do that for a while. I’m not up for another round with it right now. Are you?”

Sam couldn’t explain the irrational sense of betrayal he was feeling, not even to himself. “I… no, I guess not.” He moved toward the bathroom. His mouth was parched. He needed some water. He needed to scald this weak-kneed reaction from his skin.

“Sam?” Dean said quietly.

Sam stopped just at the door and braced his arms there. Only two steps short of freedom. “What?” he asked without looking back.

“We’re gonna be okay.”

“I… yeah, you’ll be good as new in a few days,” Sam replied. He stepped into the bathroom and shut the door behind him, then leaned back against it like he’d just outrun a monster. He didn’t want to think about Dean’s cryptic statement. He didn’t want to think at all. He turned on the water as hot as he could stand, and didn’t come out for a long time.


	6. Chapter 6

They found a simple hunt a couple of states over, and even though Dean was technically cleared, they both thought it would be better to put a little distance between them and St. Louis. Mercifully, Dean stopped asking twenty questions, and life got back on the track it had been on.

He tried to control it, but Sam knew he was more irritable than he used to be. The easy camaraderie they’d shared before the shifter had disrupted their lives was gone, and in its place were long silences, uneasy sleep and waspish comebacks for which Sam had no excuse. But all in all, Sam thought things were going as well as they could be.

Dean was having nightmares. Sam wanted to ask about them, but those kinds of questions could lead them places Sam didn’t want to go, so he bit his tongue and hoped the dreams would clear up on their own. Sam was just glad that he was sleeping so poorly that he never remembered his own.

~o0O0o~

“Hey, Dean,” Sam said as soon as Dean sat up in bed with a groan.

“What?” he muttered. Dean was usually a morning person, but the last several weeks he’d been waking sluggish and grumpy.

“Guess what the date is?”

“Dunno, Sam, but you clearly do, so why are you asking me?”

“It’s the 22nd! We need to find a doc in a box and get your cast cut off today. They said you’d only need that for six weeks.”

“Really?” Dean replied hopefully. He stuck a finger under the thing and scratched at his skin awkwardly. “Can’t say’s I’m gonna miss this sucker.”

Sam chuckled and threw a shirt and a pair of pants at his brother. Soon there’d be no reminders left of what had happened. That time couldn’t come too soon for Sam.

~o0O0o~

They walked into the clinic, and the nurse at the reception desk looked up and smiled broadly. “Dean,” she greeted breathily. “I didn’t expect to see you back so soon.”

Sam gave his brother a look. He didn’t remember ever being in this town, but clearly Dean had, and even more clearly he’d made an impression on the girls when he had. Sam stumbled over his own feet slightly when he saw Dean’s face. His brother was white as a sheet.

He moved up to the counter and put his casted hand on the counter.

“Oh,” the girl said, looking confused. “I’m… sorry, did you break it again? Or…” She reached out a finger and touched the cast. “How did… it looks like you’ve been wearing that for weeks.” She stood up. “I’ll… just go get the doctor.”

Sam nervously moved in close to his brother. “Was it here?” he asked softly.

“Dunno,” Dean replied just as quietly. “But I sure as shit have never laid my eyes on that girl.”

Fuck. Sam moved a few feet away, suddenly feeling lightheaded, and sat down in one of the chairs. Then he thought better of it and stood back up. A woman dressed in a white lab coat stepped out with the nurse. “Dean,” she said, her eyes going directly to the cast. “What… happened?”

“I broke my wrist,” Dean said slowly, like she was a little dense. “And my name isn’t Dean,” he added, “I think you must be confusing me with someone else.”

The doctor and the nurse looked at each other and laughed nervously. “What… you… but…” the doctor stuttered out incoherently. “I don’t… no. No. I remember you. You were here two days ago to get your wrist cast off.”

Sam found himself inching back nervously towards Dean, but the two women didn’t acknowledge him at all. They only had eyes for Dean, and they were staring at him like he’d flown in from another planet.

“Yeah, not so much,” Dean replied impatiently. “Look, whoever that was, it wasn’t me. So, I’d really like to get this thing off. Is there a wait?”

Sam swallowed harshly, tried to imagine sitting for hours in a quiet waiting room with a nurse sitting there listening to anything they said. He wanted to bolt, wanted to jump in the Impala with his brother and drive until they were both too exhausted to keep going anymore. Preferably when they were in another country. An ocean between them and here wouldn’t be remiss. He was shaking. And he was being a fucking idiot. He moved closer to Dean.

“No,” she replied slowly. She glanced at the door, and Sam wondered if she was considering just kicking them out. She shook her head slightly to herself and then looked back at Dean. “It’s been blessedly slow today. Do you have insurance?” She asked, resuming a professional, calmly distant demeanor.

“Naw. I’ll be paying cash.”

“Okay, well. Come on back then,” she replied. Turning to open the door behind her, she held it open, waiting for Dean to go in.

When his brother moved forward, Sam followed, right on his heels.

The doctor cleared her throat and gave Sam an odd look. “Did you have something you needed me to look at as well?”

“No!” Sam answered sharply in alarm. The thought of anyone looking at his scabbed over wounds left him reeling.

“O… kay. Well. Why don’t you wait for your friend out here, then. There’re some magazines on the table. This shouldn’t take too long.”

God, what, was he six, that he couldn’t go anywhere without being in his big brother’s shadow? He smiled self-consciously and took a step back.

Dean reached out and gripped his shoulder, his gaze dripping with sympathy. Sam had only a moment to wonder what exactly was running through Dean’s mind before his brother interrupted his thoughts. “I’ll be right back, Sammy,” he said quietly.

Sam stumbled back a couple feet and turned around, his eyes irrationally burning and his body shaking so hard he had to keep moving so he could grip the wall for support. The door shut behind him with a loud click. His head was suddenly pounding and his sight blurred as his breath started coming out quick and shallow.

“Sir? Are you all right?”

“I… just… need some air,” he gasped out, ripping the door open and almost falling down as he moved to sit on the stairs and gasp for much needed breath. Damn it. Get a grip, asshole. Dean’s barely recovered. He doesn’t need to worry about you falling apart.

_“Shhh, Sammy, I’ve got you,” Dean murmured, his hand circling around Sam’s dick. He tightened his grip and used the precome already oozing from Sam’s tip to ease the slip-slide over sensitive skin. Already hard and aching, Sam arched against Dean’s hand, seeking more, needing more…_

_Fuck_. Sam slammed his fist against the concrete stair, tearing bloody scratches into his vulnerable skin. His breaths were shallow and ineffective, but he couldn’t seem to slow them, and his heart felt like it was going to pound right out of his chest soon. He stood up, and the world started to swing dizzily around him. He took a step towards the open door.

Fiery pain was now radiating out from his chest, and he’d never really given much thought to heart attacks before, they weren’t something strong, healthy, 22-year olds generally had to worry about, but he was pretty sure this must be what one felt like. Somehow, he managed to get the door to the clinic open and he fell to the floor inside. He was covered in sweat and he still couldn’t breathe. His head was beating in time with his heart, and the pulsing staccato of pain was crippling.

“Dean,” he managed to gasp out.

He wanted his brother desperately, and didn’t want him just as much, and a small voice inside whispered, _you deserve to die, too, karmic payback for Bec… for Jess… for Mom…_

Except, fuck, Dean needed him, at least until he was fully healthy and the shifter was dealt with. This couldn’t be happening, not right now. Hands reached for him out of the blue and he screamed, thrashing around to try and shake them off. He started coughing uncontrollably, the flem building up behind tears he didn’t even realize he’d been crying forcing him to try to clear his throat or risk suffocation.

“Sam!” Dean pulled Sam off the floor and braced him against a wall. His hands gripped the sides of Sam’s head and Dean’s face was suddenly filling Sam’s field of vision, mere centimeters from Sam’s.

Sam jerked himself from the creature’s arms, yelling, “No! No, stop! Get your fucking hands off of me!” It tried to hang on to him with the hand not hindered by the cast and Sam spun around. The world veered crazily around him in counterpoint to his turn, and he went down heavily, his head slamming against the floor with a loud crack…

~o0O0o~

Dean sat in the bedside chair, studying the dry, scaly skin that spread out from under where the cast had been. The doctor had said that the rash would probably clear up in a few days, but for right now, it was obnoxiously itchy. From time to time he looked anxiously at the door to the small room, hoping that the doctor would walk back in, but he was disappointed every time.

Panic attack, the doctor had thought, but still, she’d wanted to run a few tests, just to be sure.

Probably, she’d said.

Probably left open the possibility for something worse. It seemed like it was always something worse for them.

He looked back at Sam, dark shadows lining the skin below his brother’s eyes. Sam looked like crap, and now that Dean was sitting here watching him, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d caught his brother actually sleeping.

The doctor had ripped Sam from his arms and rushed his brother back here, telling Dean to wait. He still didn’t know what tests they’d run, what they’d seen or been able to figure out, and when they’d finally let him come back, the woman had told him somewhat coldly that she wanted to wait for all of the test results to come back before she discussed Sam’s prognosis with him.

Not wanting to be sent away from Sam for being argumentative, he’d reluctantly agreed to wait. God, he was tired of waiting, tired of sitting with nothing productive to do but hurt, unable to prevent or fix any of the shit that was happening around him.

Sam whimpered a little and shifted on the bed, so Dean reached out and placed a hand lightly on Sam’s arm. With a low moan, Sam jerked away from Dean’s touch like it burned. Dean mirrored Sam’s reaction, reacting as if Sam’s hurt was his own, and maybe it was. He’d always been able to soothe Sam when they were kids; Sam had run to him over their dad most days. Now…

The wall between them was an almost physical thing, and that missing piece of himself hurt worse than it ever had when Sam was at Stanford.

“Okay,” the doctor said briskly, appearing out of nowhere to startle Dean from his thoughts. “My best guess is that it was a panic attack. You said that’s never happened to him before?”

“Not… no, I… I don’t think so.”

“Well, his heart readings came up completely normal on all the tests I ran, and… he has wounds and scars consistent with long-term prolonged trauma. Do you know who’s been hurting him, _Mr. Bonal_?” The woman was glaring at him with deep suspicion, and his assumed name dripped from her lips with obvious sarcasm.

Dean swallowed uncomfortably, uncertain how to defuse whatever it was that the doctor suspected. “N… no one,” Dean stuttered, and then, thinking quickly, added, “at least as far as I know, but, his boyfriend has always given me the creeps.”

“Uh, huh,” she replied dismissively. She drew herself up to her full height, clearly readying herself for a fight. “Well, I...”

Sam moaned long and loudly, interrupting whatever she’d been about to say. He jerked himself up suddenly to sitting, panting slightly and looking more than a bit distressed.

“Would you excuse us, please?” The doctor was zeroing in on his brother like a hawk. “I’d like to talk to your brother alone for a minute.”

Dean was about to protest, had even taken a step towards Sam, but the memory of Sam jerking away from him had him nodding meekly and stepping outside before he’d even registered his abrupt about-face. The doctor closed the door firmly behind him, as if Dean had no right to be there, but Dean wasn’t too proud to press his ear against the door and try to eavesdrop. The voices were muffled, but clear enough through the thin wood.

“So, Sam, how are you feeling?”

“I’m… I’m… what happened?” Sam sounded groggy.

“I’m afraid you had a panic attack, and you hit your head pretty hard for good measure. You hit it hard enough to knock yourself unconscious.”

“I had a…” Sam huffed out a laugh, and Dean heard the self-loathing in it loud and clear. His hand tightened on the door handle, but he managed to keep himself from opening it.

“Have you ever had a panic attack before?”

“No.”

“Well, panic disorders are actually pretty common for people who have been suffering abuse for long periods of time.” The doctor’s voice turned soothing. “Does your brother hurt you a lot, Sam?”

Dean felt fury rise up in his soul, and Sam’s emphatic, “No!” echoed his rage.

“Why the hell would you say something like that?” Sam asked indignantly.

“Sweetie, you have scaring all over your body…”

“I have a pretty physical job!” Sam interrupted.

“And,” she continued forcefully, “you have deep cuts on your back that are still healing. Cuts made with a knife.”

“Shut up,” Sam said coldly. “We’re leaving. Where did you put my shirt?”

“Cuts that spell out a word. Cuts that spell out a name, and I’m willing to bet my career that it’s the name of the man out there in the hall – cuts that spell out ‘Dean’s’…”

Dean stumbled back from the door. Sam was yelling something, but Dean couldn’t hear it over the sudden pounding in his head. No… _No… Fuck no…_

The door swung open, and Sam was standing there with a look of fury painted across his features.

“Sam! You don’t have to go with him!” she pleaded desperately. “Stay here. We can help you. There are resources…”

Sam didn’t even acknowledge what the woman was saying, just grabbed Dean’s arm and started pulling him down the hallway.

Maybe he should try to stop Sam, force his brother to get some help from people more equipped to deal with this sort of trauma than he was. Except that they’d never believe Sam when he claimed it was his brother’s doppelganger who’d hurt him. If his brother would even admit that he’d been hurt.

“She’s lying. Just… She’s lying…” Sam was muttering as they made it outside, tossing dark looks back at Dean that didn’t quite meet Dean’s eyes.

At least Dean had already paid them, in cash, so unless Sam was willing to cooperate, they had no grounds to send the police after them. That would be all they needed. He was shaking as he got in the car and got it started. He turned to Sam and opened his mouth…

“Just drive, Dean. Please,” Sam said brokenly.

Sam’s voice cut Dean’s heart to ribbons. He would have done anything Sam had asked him in that moment. After the fact, he couldn’t have said how, but somehow, Dean managed to get them back to the motel in one piece.

~o0O0o~

Sam was looking pale and shaky as they pulled up in front of their room, but that didn’t stop him from jumping out of the car almost before it had even stopped moving. By the time Dean had pulled the key from the ignition and hauled his own sorry ass out, Sam had already slammed the door of the motel room shut.

Fortunately, Dean had his own key.

He moved inside cautiously, rubbing at his aching wrist. The room was dark, the bathroom door firmly shut. The shower abruptly turned on.

“Sam?” Dean called as he moved over to the door. There was no answer.

Screw it. He reached down and turned the knob.

It was locked. Fuck that.

He banged on it. “Sam! Open the goddamn door. We need to talk.”

Sam still didn’t say anything, but the water was a steady, uninterrupted stream. Dean didn’t think Sam was actually standing under the water.

“Come on, Sammy,” Dean said, purposely softening his voice. “We need to talk. You can’t hide in there forever. Please, just come out.”

Dean paused, waiting for a response that still didn’t come.

“Just open the damn door!” he yelled. “You’re scaring the fuck out of me, man!”

The last was loud enough to trigger a coughing fit in his still healing lungs. He purposely kept it going, not a hard task once he started. His body labored for air long enough that he was gasping in between harsh, body-shaking coughs, and still there was no response, but he could always out-stubborn Mr. Stubborn when he put his mind to it. Lack of oxygen forced him to slide down the wall to the floor on his ass, his throat was a fiery mess, but he didn’t let up.

The door finally clicked open, but by then Dean was in too much misery to gloat.

Sam crouched down and held a glass of water to Dean’s lips tentatively, rubbing soothing circles against Dean’s upper back as his coughs continued uncontrollably.

Dean sucked at the moisture greedily, and gradually, his cough began to ease back.

Sam started to get up, but Dean grabbed hold of Sam’s wrist and refused to let go. “Stay here. Just… please, stay here, Sam.”

There was a slight hesitation, and then Sam eased his back against the wall next to Dean with a sigh. Dean glanced over, and even in the dim light of the room he could tell Sam had been crying… was still crying.

“Lemme see your back, Sam,” Dean requested softly.

“No.” Sam’s refusal was sharp and decisive, but Dean was never very good at taking no for an answer.

At least not from his little brother.

“Why not? Is there something you don’t want me to see?”

“No,” Sam denied quickly.

“Well, the doctor sure seemed to think there was.”

“She was… she was…” Sam couldn’t seem to get the words out, and his tears were so heavy they were muffling his voice. Dean pushed Sam forward gently and Sam didn’t fight him, just folded himself with an audible sob around his legs like a child.

“Please, just leave it alone,” Sam whispered. “There’s nothing you can do, nothing worth seeing.”

Dean ignored him, and hitched up Sam’s shirt slowly, revealing deep, jagged cuts that disappeared below Sam’s waistband. Dean wasn’t sure how Sam could stand not keeping the still obviously healing wounds covered to protect them from the rub of the cloth. He inched the waistband down to just above the crack of his brother’s ass, and had to choke back his gasp of horror, despite his forewarning. There was no doubt what the cruel slashes spelled out – his name, complete with a possessive apostrophe s.

Sam was shaking like he might fly apart at any moment, but Dean couldn’t stop himself from reaching out his own trembling hand to touch the marks. Sam hissed in response, and Dean snatched his hand back, his nerve broken. “Shit, Sam, I… shit…” he breathed out.

He pulled Sam’s shirt back down and leaned his head against the wall, closing his eyes. He didn’t want to see anymore. He half hoped a random stranger would happen along right now and gouge his eyes out so he’d never have to see again.

“I’m sorry,” Sam mumbled, tearing Dean’s heart out just a little bit more.

“What the fuck, Sammy?”

Sam flinched like he’d been struck when Dean said his name, and… he’d looked just as smacked at the doctor’s office that morning. Dean had assumed Sam was just nervous about being separated while the shifter was around, but…

There were too many fucking landmines here. He had to hear the whole story, whether he wanted to or not. He couldn’t let Sam keep everything to himself anymore. All this time, he’d been telling himself he was just giving Sam space, but, he’d been lying to himself – he was just being a fucking coward.

“You have to tell me what happened, Sam. From the beginning. Whatever you think you’re protecting me from… it’s just going to end up driving us apart if you keep pretending it didn’t happen…”

“You’ll blame yourself. I don’t… it was… no. Just… no,” Sam stuttered out, his anger building. “You don’t get to know this time, okay? Let it go. I’ll be okay. Just let it go.” Sam started to get up.

Dean could hear the stubborn in Sam’s voice. His brother really was thinking he could take this to the grave. He shot out his hand and latched onto Sam’s shoulder, keeping his brother down, ignoring the loud complaint from his wrist. “I know, okay?” Dean spit out desperately. “At least, I know some of it.” Sam was starting to pull away more strongly, and, fuck, it was now or nothing. “I know he… it. It. I know it raped you. It…”

Sam jerked from Dean’s grasp and twisted around on his ass, his face displaying his devastation, his utter betrayal. “What? No! It didn’t…”

“I know!” Dean yelled over Sam’s outrage, over the denial he knew was coming. “I heard, okay? It made me… it made me listen while it did it. There was a… there was a mic, or something, in your room, and it made me listen…”

Sam stared at Dean, frozen, for several long moments, and then suddenly he was scrambling into the bathroom.

Dean threw himself after Sam, thinking his brother was going to lock him out again, but Sam only crawled over to the toilet and started retching into it, which, fuck, Dean had completely forgotten about the possible concussion Sam had sustained when he fell earlier.

Dean held Sam through the convulsions, and then cleaned his face with a wet washcloth when he was done, caring for his little brother like he’d always done, heedless of whatever scars that creature may have left on Sam’s soul. It had been trying to tear them apart for reasons that still completely mystified Dean, but he knew he wasn’t going to let it win… even though his brother refused to meet his eyes, even though his brother was acting for all the world like a wounded animal, Dean wasn’t going to fucking let it win.

Sam finally pulled away and rose unsteadily to wash his mouth out in the sink. Dean stayed on the floor, watching him, but got up and followed Sam out when he moved into the main room. Sam sank down onto a bed.

It was getting pretty dark. Dean moved to turn on the lights.

“Don’t.”

Dean froze, his hand hovering over the switch. He didn’t like the dark. He snorted softly and forced his hand down. He was a fucking hunter, damn it.

The table was next to the door, so he sank down onto one of the hard chairs. Sam scooted around so his back was to Dean and then slipped off the side to sit on the floor with his head resting back on the bed. It made Dean uneasy that he couldn’t see his brother’s face, couldn’t look him in the eyes to see if he was okay, to see if he was still hiding things. There wasn’t really crap all he could do about it though.

“I… it… I don’t know how to start,” Sam mumbled. “Why don’t you tell me what you know, and then I’ll fill in the blanks.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so, genius. You need to tell me everything. I’m not gonna let you weasel out because you think I won’t catch you in a lie. I know you were at Becky’s. I know you fought hard – that place was a freaking disaster. I know you were on the ground when I got there and that I stupidly let it take me out. What happened after that?”

There was a long pause…

Long enough that Dean wasn’t sure Sam was going to answer, but then, “It was choking me,” Sam said softly. “I think I heard you coming, but I must’ve passed out ‘cause I don’t remember you actually getting there. I woke up in a motel room. I thought it was you at first, but then… it was acting weird, and I figured it out eventually. I tried to get away, but it…” He trailed off for a moment, then, “I lost. It drugged me. When I woke up, we’d moved again. I don’t… I’m not sure why it… why it did that. Maybe it needed more time to get you secured. I don’t know.”

Sam paused again and swallowed hard, then breathed out, “After it stopped the drugs, it showed me a picture of you on… some sort of heat-sensing camera. It told me that if I did what it wanted it would tell me where you were, and that if I didn’t play along I’d never find you. I wasn’t positive it was wrong about that, given its easy access to people’s memories and money, and I couldn’t... I figured… I figured I could look for you while I played its game, keep all my options open, you know? So, I agreed…”

“I heard you,” Dean offered, his mind climbing back into that dank hole as he remembered.

“What?” Sam asked, sounding startled.

“I woke up chained to the wall in the dark. I couldn’t figure out a way to free myself. I heard you say my name and ask me where I was, but I didn’t know. I thought you were there, but… yeah. I didn’t hear anything after that, not for a long time, at least. I shouted myself hoarse, though, calling for you.” He chuckled darkly, feeling self-conscious.

“Oh,” Sam breathed out.

There was another long moment of silence, both of them trapped in unpleasant memories.

Sam snorted softly, breaking the stillness. “It found us a hunt. Just a… a normal fucking hunt.” His voice was rising with bitterness. “It… wanted me to act like everything was normal, as if I really thought it was you. And it kept telling me that if I wasn’t convincing enough, it would cancel the deal, so… I kept playing along. We ended up tracking a Hook Man...”

“The Hook Man? Really?” Dean interrupted, impressed in spite of himself. “That’s one of the most famous urban legends ever.”

“Yeah, well. That’s what…” Sam stopped for a moment, cleared his throat. “Anyway, I called Bobby. He agreed to look for you, said he had a contact that could analyze the data on the laptop the creature’d used to monitor you with, so, I figured it was only a matter of time before you were found, but… I figured I still need to cover all the bases. The thing didn’t seem too worried – didn’t even bother to try to hide the laptop from me. Left me alone plenty long enough to work out the plan with Bobby.

“It was acting kind of psycho, had been the whole time, really, but I figured it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. I just wanted to keep a backup plan in case Bobby failed. In case the creature was right and it really had hidden you away so well you’d be long dead by the time we found you. I guess... I guess I wasn’t handling the thing that well, though, because it killed one of the people that we questioned about the case.”

The self-recrimination was clear in Sam’s voice. Dean felt a surge of anger, but of course, there still wasn’t anything he could do to fix anything. Nothing more he could do than the last million times he’d felt that particular emotion since they’d encountered the creature.

“It… it said I wasn’t acting well enough,” Sam stammered out, his small bravado fading out in the face of what was clearly coming. “I’d… I argued with it in public, early on. It told me that the murder was payback... but… Bobby hadn’t had any luck finding you yet, his contact hadn’t had any luck with the computer files, either, and I couldn’t make myself take it out, not… not when it might have been the only way to find you.”

The defensiveness was rising in Sam’s tone, so Dean interrupted him, “Yeah, man, I get it. I wouldn’t have taken it out either, positions reversed.”

“You… you would have found a better way to handle it than I did,” Sam muttered.

“Hunts go sideways sometimes, dude. It’s happened to all of us. You gotta quit beating yourself up.” Sam was silent for a long time, long enough that the growing darkness was making Dean itchy. “What happened next?” he bit out, more testily than he intended.

“It… it wanted… it… it drugged me again. And I couldn’t… I tried, Dean, but, I couldn’t… couldn’t stop it.”

Dean felt like a dick for being irritable, felt nausea and anger coiling together, molten hot in his gut, as the words finally penetrated. He got up. He was halfway across the room before he could second guess himself, but he couldn’t just sit there while Sam was hurting.

He reached the bed and paused, uncertain, then dropped to the floor at the foot of the bed so that he and Sam were sharing a corner. He inched closer to the edge, stopping as soon as he felt the flesh of his arm brush against Sam’s. Sam shivered, but didn’t pull away. Thank god. Dean wasn’t sure he could have taken the rejection.

“It was lying, you know that, right?” Dean asked, clearing his throat.

“What?” Sam startled, his voice husky with emotion.

“I have never, _never_ wanted you like… like _that_. You’re my brother, and, yeah, you’re pretty much the only other person that’s ever been important to me other than Dad, and Mom, but, I… what that thing claimed I wanted… it’s a lying sack of shit. And I got why you didn’t call while you were at Stanford. I wasn’t happy about it, but I got it. I could have picked up the phone just as easily you know, but… I got it.”

Sam heaved a breath and hitched out, “When did… did you hear everything that happened?”

“No. I hadn’t heard anything since those few brief words that first time. Then suddenly… it sounded like maybe you had just woken up, but it was ordering you to go to bed, and then it insisted that you get in the same bed as it was. I heard everything that came after that.”

“So it specifically wanted you to hear what it did… why?” Sam asked plaintively.

“Beats the shit out of me. Far as I can tell, it gets off on people’s pain.” Dean could feel Sam’s hand running over his skin, could feel it inching, crawling lower down his stomach until it was taking him in hand possessively, the wires and fatigue holding him helpless in the confines of the hospital bed, too weak to do anything to stop the invasive touch. He shoved the memory away with a harsh exhale of air. Sam had been through so much worse. Dean didn’t have the right to dwell on that small violation in the face of what Sam had gone through.

They sat for a bit, Dean itching with the need for Sam’s story to continue so he could forget the harsh memories that were insisting on playing in his head. He needed this conversation to be over before he shattered under the stress of it. “So, not too long after it… after it hurt you,” Dean offered abruptly, “there was a pipe that had been leaking… leaking a lot, actually, and… I guess it burst. I thought for sure I was going to drown down there, man. The water was pouring down on me hard, and it had to have been a big fucking pipe because it didn’t seem to be taking that long for the room to fill up.

“The water was up to my chin and I was straining up out of it as much as the manacle around my wrist would let me, but, I was already starting to breathe in more water than air…” Dean’s breaths were coming harsh and shallow, unconsciously mimicking those desperate last few moments.

He made himself breathe deeply in and out a couple of times and then continued, “At the last minute, the guys they sent to fix the line must’ve found me and got me out somehow. I woke up in the hospital. They told me they’d found me down there. I pretended amnesia. I don’t think they believed me, but it’s not like they could force me to talk.”

Another bit of silence was interrupted by a short, barking laugh that ripped from Sam’s throat. “So, everything that happened, everything I did, really was all for nothing.”

“I don’t think the creature planned on the pipe bursting, Sam. Or the rescue.” Sam was shaking hard, and Dean inched his hand closer, found a couple of Sam’s fingers splayed on the floor and wrapped a couple of his own around them. “If that hadn’t happened, then what you went through probably would have been the only way to save me, Sam.”

That didn’t get Dean a response, so he asked, “How did you… what happened after what it… when did it…” Dean couldn’t seem to figure out how to get the words out. His throat kept swallowing around them.

Fortunately, Sam found his voice again. “We finished the hunt,” he said dully.

Dean shuddered, trying to imagine playing along after what it had done. He didn’t think he could have done it.

“Not without a lot of casualties though,” Sam added. “Between me being off my game and the creature more focused on killing as bloodily and messily as possible during the final confrontation than it was on the case. We lost the girl we’d been trying to help, and we lost her father as well… At least we managed to destroy the Hook Man, I guess.”

“So, then…”

Sam didn’t wait for Dean to get the words out. “After that, we went to this bar to ‘celebrate,’ and it threatened to kill another girl. I told it I’d do anything it wanted if it meant it’d leave the girl alone and tell me your location. I didn’t figure… at that point there wasn’t really anything left to lose, I guess. It… agreed, so we… and then… it cuffed me to the bed. That’s when it cut me. Left me chained there. Eventually Bobby found me…”

Sam was crying audibly by then, and Dean risked inching around the corner of the bed to wrap his arms around his brother. Sam didn’t fight him, collapsing into Dean’s arms when he pulled. His brother buckled against Dean’s chest, clinging to him and whimpering out tight, choked sobs that Sam even now was trying to keep inside.

But at least he wasn’t fighting Dean. Dean’s own face was wet with tears, and he was glad Sam hadn’t let him turn on the lights. He didn’t think either of them would be able to be this vulnerable in front of each other if they could see.

“It didn’t lie,” Sam croaked out between gasps. “It left a map to your location. But when we got there… it was Bec. It killed Becky and left her in your place for me to find…”

And then Sam really was crying fully – harsh jagged sobs tearing from him, not for himself, clearly, but for yet another blond woman that he’d cared about and hadn’t been able to save.

Dean just sat there, rocking Sam through his grief, and marveling at the strength of will Sam had to keep on going after everything.

The creature was dead, Dean vowed to himself. Even if he had to take on the same path of obsessed vengeance his father had been on for the last twenty years, the creature was fucking dead.

~o0O0o~

Sam forced his sleep-crusted eyes open a crack and sat up cautiously, his head pounding. Fuck, he couldn’t believe how badly he’d lost it the night before.

Dean knew.

But fuck if that meant he was going to let his brother treat him any differently. They were here to do a hunt, and damned if that meant he was going to let Dean leave him here, stuck in the motel room like a little kid. Hell, he was still in better shape than his brother even after everything that he had let happen.

But first he needed a hot shower. He didn’t really know why people claimed letting it out was a good thing – his getting hysterical hadn’t accomplished much beyond making him feel kind of like he was hung over.

He glanced over at the other bed. Dean was sleeping restlessly. That wasn’t unusual.

His brother mumbled something that sounded an awful lot like, “Stop,” and suddenly Sam couldn’t get into the bathroom fast enough. He didn’t want Dean dreaming about what had happened to him.

Dean had heard everything.

Hoping the cold would shock his brain away from its obsessive dwelling, Sam slammed on the cold water and stepped into the stall as soon as his boxers hit the floor. He showered quickly but he was still shivering when he stepped out. It hadn’t worked; the only thing different now was that he was freezing.

He ran the towel over his body haphazardly and almost tripped over himself pulling his clothes on, suddenly feeling anxious about being out of Dean’s sight for so long. What if the creature…

He opened the door and almost sighed his relief out loud when he found Dean still lying in bed, much how he’d been when Sam had left him.

Dean woke and peered blearily at Sam. “Hey. How are you doing this morning?” And there it was – that overly concerned big brother voice that Dean only got when he was really worried about Sam, which… he didn’t want it, not sympathy, not pity, not… he just wanted to be treated like normal. Like nothing had happened. It was the only way he’d be able to forget and move on.

“Get up,” Sam snapped. “I wanna go get some coffee, and I don’t think we should let each other out of our sights as long as we have good reason to believe that that thing is in town somewhere.”

“Ookay,” Dean said slowly, but he got up, so Sam let it go.

He sat down at the computer while Dean got dressed, digging for info on either the hunt they’d come here for, or news of the newest local serial killer on the loose.

He’d barely opened the browser before Dean announced he was ready. He wasn’t going to get very far without coffee anyway. The shower had done nothing to ease the pounding going on in his head.

They walked in silence down to the 7-11 they’d seen on the corner near the motel and made due with burned coffee and crappy donuts. Dean was the one who finally broke the silence on the walk back. “So, we could leave town, you know. We don’t have to confront the thing now if you… I mean, if you think we aren’t up to it.”

“What, you think I can’t handle myself in a fight?” Sam responded defensively, spinning around to stand in Dean’s path, forcing his brother to either stop or run into him.

Dean stumbled awkwardly to a stop. “What? Of course I do…”

“Or do you just not trust me to have your back anymore?” Sam cut in over Dean’s automatic protest.

Dean looked a little affronted. “Dude, relax. I just got my cast off and you had a panic attack and suffered a mild concussion yesterday. All I’m saying is that this might not be the level of hunt either of us should be taking on right at the moment.”

“I’m fine,” Sam snarled. He knew he wasn’t being fair, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

“Okay, Princess. Whatever you say,” Dean replied condescendingly, stepping around Sam to continue walking.

Sam turned reluctantly and followed quietly in Dean’s footsteps.

Dean opened up the paper as they walked and started paging through it. Sam stepped forward and tried to take one of the sections, but Dean snapped it away. “Paws off, grumpy,” he muttered.

They reached the room, and when Dean didn’t put the paper down Sam moved around him with an irritated sigh to unlock the door.

“Fuck,” Dean muttered.

“What?” Sam responded, drawing up short and turning around expectantly.

Dean snapped the paper closed and looked around nervously. “Get us inside. I don’t like this at all.”

“What?” Sam insisted.

Dean shoved Sam to the side and dug his own key out of his pocket, quickly opening the room and ushering Sam inside with the badly folded paper.

As soon as the door clicked closed, Sam asked, “What the hell, Dean?”

“You aren’t going to like it,” Dean replied sourly.

“Will you stop being so annoying and just tell me already?”

Dean set his cup down and opened up the paper again, folding it over and thrusting it in Sam’s face. Buried near the back on the bottom half of the page was an article about a local haunting, featuring an interview with a happy couple, who claimed it had all been solved by none other than one Mr. Dean Winchester.

“What the hell is it playing at?” Dean muttered.

Sam felt cold, and then hot, and then cold again. He couldn’t make his brain work. He moved into the bathroom and splashed some water on his face, trying to clear it. Was the thing suicidal, flaunting itself like this in front of them? Or was it just so overconfident that they couldn’t take it out, that it didn’t care if they knew where it was?

“Okay,” Dean said from right outside the open bathroom door, making Sam jump a foot straight up in the air, which, okay, that may have been a slight exaggeration, but his racing heart was sure claiming otherwise. He swallowed down his panic as Dean continued. “Cocky son-of-a-bitch wants to play, it’ll be the last thing it ever does,” Dean said angrily. “We know how to take it out. So, I say we both arm ourselves with silver shot, we stay together, and we shoot first and ask questions later. Thing won’t know what hit it. Plan?”

“Except for the fact that we don’t actually know if it’s even still hanging around here? Sure, that’s a great plan.”

“I don’t think the thing’s actually going to be able to resist seeking out a bit of entertainment before it leaves. It’s trying to be me – so, we go out and check all the places I might have been tempted to stop.”

Sam sighed. This was Dean’s typical ‘just charge in shooting’ modus operandi, but… this time he couldn’t seem to make himself care. The thing couldn’t be dead soon enough. He nodded his assent. “Yeah, man, sounds like a plan.”

~o0O0o~

Dean killed the engine and started to open the door but Sam’s restless fidgeting made him pause. “What?” he snapped irritably.

“So far we got a whole lot of nothing, Dean,” Sam complained. “We’re wasting our time here. I think we should head back to the motel and go back into research mode. The longer we spend chasing nothing, the bigger the lead it gets on us and the harder it’s going to be to find.”

Dean shook his head. “Look, this is the last one. This one don’t pan out, we’ll play it your way, but… I got a feeling…” Dean finished opening the door and swung himself out, then looked at Sam expectantly.

Sam sat there contemplating for a moment, who knows what running through his big brain, and then finally shook himself and followed Dean’s lead. That-a-boy.

They strode into the noisy bar and looked around. No less than four tables in the back, which was a little busier than Dean usually preferred, but it also lent itself to more options for marks, and, depending on the crowd, that could be a good thing. He could see himself hitting this place. He moved up to the bar, Sam right behind him, and caught the eye of the bartender.

Definite recognition lit the guy’s eyes, although he didn’t look happy to see Dean. Dean moved closer anyway. It was about time they got a lead. Figured it would be the last place they checked, though, he thought sourly. He opened his mouth to ask for something on tap, but the guy pushed a cold glass into his hand before he could get the words out.

“He’s in the back, but take it somewhere else this time, okay?” the man growled.

Dean kept the confusion off his face and simply nodded. “Sure thing,” he drawled. Snatching up the beer, he took a long, appreciative swallow and turned away to look towards the tables and try to figure out what the hell the guy was talking about.

Sam moved in right behind him and asked, “What the hell was that all about?”

“Beats me,” Dean muttered. He walked toward the tables and looked around. There was a guy lounging indolently on a free-standing booth seat watching the crowd, but as soon as he noticed Dean he slid off and came right up into Dean’s space, catching Dean’s jacket in a tight fist. Dean had to fight down the instinct to lash out as the guy manhandled him against the wall and moved in close enough that his warm breath was ghosting over Dean’s face.

The stranger was tall, with messy hair in need of a cut. He reminded Dean a little of Sam…

His musing was cut short as the guy’s mouth covered Dean’s, his tongue pushing inside before Dean could figure out how to react. The kiss was hungry and possessive, and Dean could feel his dick perk up a little at the promise of things to come and… oh, _hell, no_.

Dean shoved Mr. WayTooFuckingOverlyFamiliar roughly away.

“Hey!” the guy muttered in angry surprise.

Dean was too busy getting his accelerated breathing under control to figure out how to respond, but Sam stepped in and pushed the guy back even further. “Hands off, asshole,” he muttered.

The guy did a double take as he looked at Sam, and then anger crossed his face as he looked back at Dean. “You didn’t tell me you already had a boyfriend,” he accused angrily at Dean.

“What? No, that’s my…”

“Where the hell’d you go, anyway? That night was amazing, best sex I’ve had in a long time. You told me you’d call…” the man pouted.

Dean’s brain completely short-circuited, and he couldn’t help being grateful when Sam took the lead. “You slept with him? When?” his brother asked, giving the guy a little shake.

The guy turned his attention to Sam. “Three days ago,” he smirked. “And it was _fucking amazing_. Guess your boyfriend isn’t as into you as you thought, huh?”

Sam snorted. “And you haven’t seen him since?” he asked.

“No, but he obviously didn’t get enough – he’s back for more, isn’t he?”

“So not…” Dean muttered.

Sam shoved the guy away and grabbed Dean. “It’s gone. It already got what it wanted. Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he said grimly.

Dean couldn’t move fast enough. As they made their way back through the bar, the guy shouted, a little desperately, “Call me!”

Dean laughed a little manically. “In your dreams,” he called, turning back, half-itching for a fight. Sam grabbed hold of his jacket and manhandled him out the door. As soon as they were past the threshold, Dean pulled himself from Sam’s grasp, straightening the leather somewhat indignantly as he looked back into the bar for the guy.

Sam pushed him a little and Dean stumbled a bit towards the Impala before his brain finally re-engaged. Suddenly, he was feeling more than a little outraged. “What the hell?” he protested. “I thought that thing wanted to be me? I’m sure as fuck not gay – why the hell is it going after guys while it’s wearing my face? I’ve never slept…”

“Dean!” Sam interrupted loudly. “Big picture. The thing hasn’t been seen in three days. It’s moved on. We need to go back to the motel and start looking.”

“I…” Dean stumbled to a stop. “Yeah, yeah. I guess.” Sullenly, he made his way to the car and opened her up. He caught Sam’s gaze, and irritation flooded through him. “I’m not gay!” he insisted one more time.

Sam just snorted again and shook his head before climbing inside.

The drive back was done in silence, Dean stewing, and Sam quiet. He wasn’t sure why Sam’s silence on the matter was pissing him off so much, but… Sam knew the creature was… and that was another thing, what that creature had said to Sam. Sam had to know… “It’s just screwing with us. You know that, right?” Dean muttered as he pulled to a stop in front of the room. “I’ve never hooked up with a guy before. What it said to you… it’s just screwing with you.”

“Yeah, Dean,” Sam replied tiredly. “I know, alright?” He got out and moved to unlock the door. Dean trailed behind uncertainly. He wasn’t sure what was going on in Sam’s head right now, and that didn’t sit comfortably.

The door swung open and they stepped inside. There was a figure standing on the other side of the room, looking out the window. “Hey!” Dean yelled, his voice laden with suspicion and threat. He stepped forward and pulled out his gun in one smooth motion.

Behind him, Sam flipped on the light and the guy turned around.

It felt like the bottom dropped out of Dean’s stomach. “Dad?” he breathed out, stunned.

“Hey, boys.” Their dad smiled a little tenuously, and took a step forward. That was all the invitation Dean needed, and he moved into his dad’s space gratefully. They embraced, and Dean let himself sink into the strong, safe hold of his father’s arms. Dad was here. There was no way the shifter would get away now. They’d find it together.

Dad started to pull away, and Dean immediately let him go. He smiled at Dean a little sadly, and then looked over Dean’s shoulder.

Sam was cowering next to the door, looking like he was about ready to take off. The bravado Sam usually wore around their dad was completely absent. In fact, Sam looked like he was seeing a ghost for the first time.

“Hi, Sam,” Dad said softly.

A flicker of pain crossed Sam’s face. “Hey, Dad,” he croaked out.

Suddenly a little pissed, Dean turned back to his father. “Where have you been? We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“I’ve been tracking the demon. I think I’m getting close. You boys been taking care of the leads I’ve been sending you?”

The air of command was clear in their father’s voice, and they both straightened immediately like the well trained soldiers they were. “Yes, sir,” they answered in unison.

“It knows I’m close. It knows I’m gonna kill it. Not just exorcise it or send it back to hell – actually kill it.” Dad looked tired, but hope shone in his eyes, and Dean immediately felt guilty for his brief anger. His dad didn’t need Dean’s shit on top of everything else.

“How?” Dean asked, unable to keep the question inside. He tried to keep down his own surge of hope; Dad had made claims like this before.

“I’m working on that.”

“Let us come with you. We’ll help,” Sam replied softly, hesitantly. The vibrato Sam would have had a month ago when talking to their father was missing, and Dean’s heart ached.

“No, Sam. Not yet. Just try to understand. This demon is a scary son of a bitch. I don’t want you caught in the crossfire. I don’t want you hurt.”

“Too late,” Sam muttered.

Dean expected confusion, and he shifted uneasily, but Dad just replied, “Sam, I heard about your girlfriend. I’m sorry.” Oh. Right. Dean had almost forgotten about that under the weight of… everything.

That seemed to rouse Sam a little bit. “Dad, you don’t have to worry about us…”

“Of course I do. I’m your father, and this demon…” Dad paused, looking closely at Sam. “Listen, Sammy, last time we were together, we had one hell of a fight.”

“Yes, sir,” Sam responded automatically, his eyes flashing hurt.

“It’s good to see you again. It’s been a long time.”

“Too long,” Sam replied, his voice strained.

Dad took a step closer, but Sam’s eyes shifted down and he took a step back defensively.

“Dad…” Dean said, moving forward between them uneasily.

“Dean, I… I think me and your brother need a little time to talk. Why don’t you drive down to the diner I saw on the way into town and bring us back something to eat.”

Dad clearly didn’t know what had happened, and the thought of him inadvertently making Sam feel worse made Dean sick. “Dad, I…”

Irritation flashed across his dad’s features. “I don’t expect an argument,” he snapped.

“Yes, sir,” Dean replied, buckling under the clear order. “It’s just…”

“Now, Dean,” Dad interrupted with a raised eyebrow.

Dean glanced back at Sam who was leaning against the wall and staring at the dirty carpet as if it held all the secrets to the universe. He looked lost. But maybe fixing the past with their dad could help heal the things in the present. Dean sure as shit didn’t have any answers. “Yes, sir,” he replied sharply. He shoved his misgivings aside and let himself out of the room.


	7. Chapter 7

Sam listened to the rumble of the Impala as it started up and pulled out of the lot. He wanted to run after it and force Dean to take him with. He felt foolish for having the impulse, but there it was.

He forced himself to square his shoulders and look his Dad in the eyes. This wasn’t how he’d imagined this reunion would start out. He knew it was a little childish, but in his daydreams he’d been strong, single-handedly saving both Dad and Dean from some horrible evil or another. When he realized what his youngest son had done his dad would have looked at him with pride – and, okay, maybe a little contrition, too – written across his face, and he’d have been forced to apologize for ever treating Sam the way he had.

The reality was about as far from what he’d imagined as he could get. Sam had completely failed – he’d failed not only to protect Dean, he’d failed to even protect himself. The capable hunter he’d imagined himself to be had been exposed as nothing more than a lie, a self-involved arrogance that only served to get the people he loved hurt, and now he was being forced to stand and wait for his father’s judgment.

There was a long, heavy silence, both of them looking at each other, neither quite willing, nor quite able, to speak first. Sam finally dropped his eyes to the floor in defeat. Whatever judgment his father was about to pass on him was more than likely deserved.

“Sammy,” Dad finally said, making Sam flinch. His father moved to stand right in front of him. “I meant what I said before…” he stopped and cleared his throat. “It’s good to see you again. I never meant for it to be this long.” He put a heavy hand on Sam’s shoulder and pulled him forward. Sam stayed stiff, but his dad pulled him in close, determinedly wrapping his arms around Sam anyway.

The sob that had been burning in the back of Sam’s throat finally burst free with a shuddering gasp. He fought it for a moment, tried to swallow it back, his hands twisted in the fabric of his father’s worn jacket, fought it until he couldn’t breathe, but in the end his body betrayed him and his strength finally gave out. Sam let himself fall into the embrace, clinging to his dad like a lifeline, and he would have begged his dad to come to the rescue and fix everything if he could have gotten any words out past the harsh, wet cries.

He clung to the safety of his father’s sturdy frame for a while, until embarrassment finally helped to choke back his tears. He wasn’t sure what his dad was seeing as he looked at his youngest son, but Sam suspected it wasn’t anything pride-worthy.

Never in a million years had Sam ever thought that the first thing he would do when he saw his dad again was burst into tears like a little girl.

He tried to pull away, intended to head straight for the bathroom so he could hide his blotchy face and reddened eyes, but his dad held on, keeping him close. “Guess you weren’t as strong as you thought you were,” his dad murmured into his ear.

“What?” Sam asked, startled. The words ate at his soul, and for a moment he almost lost the struggle to shove his emotions back down where they belonged.

Humiliation complete, shame burned behind his eyes. He tried once again to pull away, but his dad held him tight and he failed to put any distance between them.

His dad’s grip tightened a little more, bordering on painful. “Bobby called me, Sammy. I have a pretty good idea what happened.”

_No! Why would Bobby betray him like that?_ Sam struggled, but his dad still wasn’t letting go. “Why do you think I had to stop my hunt and come here?”

“Dad, I…” Sam started, his explanation muffled against his father’s jacket.

Dad cut him off quickly, “I can’t believe how badly you fucked this up, Sammy. I trusted you and Dean to take care of things while I took care of the demon, and then you just let that thing crawl into your pants as if I taught you nothing. You didn’t even put up a fight, just rolled over and showed it your belly, let its filthy hands crawl all over you like a playground, let it slice its mark into your skin. Your brother almost died, Sammy!”

Sam was struggling in earnest when his dad abruptly released him. He staggered a bit, and his dad’s fist slammed against his cheek, throwing him down onto the bed. He sat up again immediately, the sudden need to defend himself against his dad’s unfair judgment ingrained after years of fighting.

“No,” Sam protested, “That’s not…”

Except…

He trailed off, his eyes dropping to the floor, the fight leaving him in a rush that left him empty. His dad wasn’t really far from wrong, was he? Sam really hadn’t put up much of a fight. His eyes burned, and he felt nauseous and shaky sitting there helplessly under his father’s glare. Why did Bobby have to tell his father everything that had happened? He felt the last of his shattered confidence breaking; all he wanted to do was crawl into a hole somewhere and never come out again.

His dad’s fist lashed out once again, hitting the other side of his face and slamming him back down onto the bed. “Filthy whore! Dean doesn’t deserve to have a pathetic fuck-up like you for a brother!” Sam tried to curl up into himself, but his father was straddling him now, pinning him to the bed, and pain exploded against his face once more, leaving him dazed. He wasn’t even trying to fight any more. A small part of him hoped his dad would just kill him and get it over with.

One of his dad’s hands suddenly plunged down the front of his pants to roughly grab his dick. Sam panicked, shock and horror shoving all of his training out the window as he frantically tried to escape the assault.

_Not dad… not dad…_

A hard fist slammed against his head once again, leaving Sam stunned, his skull pounding a painful rhythm in time with his heart. He could barely breathe past the pounding, everything seemed to be spinning around him and he couldn’t seem to move his limbs. His dad… the creature… _the creature_ took advantage, ripping the front of his pants open, leaving him completely exposed.

He blinked his eyes rapidly and shook his head, trying to shake off his muddled lethargy enough to at least crawl away.

It tightened its hold and scooted down his body so that it straddled him just below his hips. It had undone its own pants as well, and its dick was jutting out, hard and aroused. Its hand was still moving over his dick, and it began laughing, low and threatening and mocking. “You’re just so easy, son.”

Sam lashed out, the derision in the thing’s voice giving him a small burst of energy. He managed to throw the thing off of him and quickly scrambled out of its reach. Frantically, he tried to re-button his pants, but they were pretty much destroyed.

The creature didn’t seem at all bothered by his small escape, and its laughs increased to the point of hilarity. Sam glared at it, trying to ignore the way his vision was fading in and out, and surreptitiously reached behind him for the gun he’d put in the back of his pants before they went on their bar tour. It was gone.

The creature held up its hand. “Looking for this?”

“Fuck you,” Sam bit back.

“Oh, Sammy. Do you really think you could put a bullet in your own father? Wait, don’t answer that. Your father sure seems to think so.” It snapped open the chamber and let the bullets fall onto the bed before tossing the weapon away into the far corner of the room.

The snide comment tore at Sam – his father didn’t believe him capable of that… did he?

“I know where he is, you know,” the creature continued, “I’m a much better tracker than you are. God, you’re so pathetic. You need your father because you aren’t man enough to take your vengeance out on that demon by yourself.”

Sam flinched back slightly and the creature grinned, its tone softening, cajoling. “I can tell you where your daddy is, though, and then he can help you carry out your revenge. You take me out? That info is lost.” Its voice lowered suggestively, “You give me a little something that I want, though, and maybe we could make a deal…”

It rubbed its hand over its dick suggestively.

Sam wanted to burn the image right out of his brain with bleach… with bleach and a burning brand, a brand he would happily put through his own eyes. He really couldn’t remember ever even thinking of his Dad as a sexual creature before. What the creature was doing… it was just wrong. So wrong.

“So, what do you say, Sammy? You willing to play? I promise I’ll tell you where your daddy is when it’s over, and you know I make good on my promises.”

Sam launched himself at the thing, his anger leaving him unfocused, and the thing used the opening his weak attack left to send a right hook rocking him sideways. He let the force of the blow send him down and used the momentum to spin around and connect his own right with the side of the creature’s face.

Sam felt the crunch of bone under his fingers, but the creature shook it off in a blink, sending a successful return volley before wrenching his shoulder back and slamming him down onto the bed, a solid pin keeping him crushed against the mattress.

“You know,” it said conversationally, “Your dad was actually glad you were away at college; couldn’t wait to get you out of the house. He was worried about you going evil, you see. Still is. Thought you might take Dean down the dark path with you if you stayed with them. He was so relieved to finally be able to wash his hands of you. When you forced his hand so he could tell you to never come back, you did exactly what he hadn’t had the guts to do. You know, he actually thought Dean would follow his orders and stay away from you. He had no idea it was already too late to save his oldest son from you.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Sam muttered against the blankets, ignoring the surge of pain as he jerked against the hold.

“Awww, don’t be that way, Sammy. You’re the weak link for both of them. John knows he should have taken you out back and shot you like a rabid dog years ago, but he keeps hopin’ he’s gonna find a way to save you. Me? I think he’s going to die disappointed. I mean, you’ve already let your brother fuck you up the ass, and now you’re going to do the same thing for your father. It begs the question, ‘Just what else are you capable of?’”

Sam’s pants had slipped down during the struggle, and the harsh scrape of denim against the skin of his ass registered a mere moment before the creature’s dick rubbed against him, hard and hot. The creature wiggled its free hand underneath his pelvis to cup him, and Sam couldn’t keep his whimpered protest inside. Not again. He couldn’t do this again…

It leaned forward close enough that its lips tickled against his ear. “You know, I know Dean told you that he didn’t want you like this,” it whispered, moving its hand up and down his length insistently. “But he’s a liar. You know that right? I visited him in the hospital for you, since you were too busy chasing your own tail. You touched him in all the dirty bad places, and, guess what? He got off on it, came all over himself just from the stroke of your hand.”

“No…”

“Oh yes. Ask him about it sometime. Of course, he won’t want to talk about it, so you’ll need to push him, maybe get him liquored up, but… sticky spunk all over your hand and his stomach. It’s true, Sammy. I wouldn’t lie about something like that.”

It was slowly, awkwardly jacking him as it spoke, its thumb circling around the head of his cock and up over his slit, rubbing the slight slick it found there against his sensitive skin. Sam could feel himself hardening. He jerked against the hold hard enough to make his bones ache, but the creature had no trouble maintaining its grip.

Sam turned his head towards the door, willing Dean to come back through.

The creature laughed. “You really think Dean could so easily put a bullet in his dad? You might be destined for evil, but he isn’t. He’ll hesitate. I’ll get away, simple as that. This’ll be just one more time I came and took what I wanted from you, and you failed to stop me.”

His dad’s whiskey rough voice scraped against Sam’s skin like a burn, and despite the creature’s actions, Sam kept having to remind himself that this wasn’t his dad; he wasn’t sure the creature was wrong. He couldn’t imagine Dean being able to put a bullet in its head, not when it looked like their father.

Its hand slipped off his dick, pulling free from under him, but Sam only had a moment of relief before a large, work-worn finger plunged into his cleft and stabbed deep down inside of him. The painful burn made him gasp, his lungs refusing to function for a moment as his body fought the intrusion.

“Shit, gonna need some lube,” it muttered, ripping its finger free.

Sam could taste the bile in the back of his throat as he tried to suck air into his laboring lungs.

“Got it,” his dad said triumphantly.

His attempt to keep the contents of his stomach on the inside was only marginally successful. He started coughing harshly, and he had to spit the liquid that bubbled up out onto the mattress.

“Calm down, son – we’re only just getting started,” his dad murmured. Cold liquid squirted into the crack of his ass, and then the tube was pushed almost inside of him as his dad squeezed out even more. The tube of slick pulled out much easier than it had gone in, and Sam heard it land somewhere on the other side of the room after his dad, after _it_ tossed the thing away.

“Okay, that’s better,” it murmured roughly.

The sound of a lock clicking stole what little air he had from his lungs. The door slammed open. All at once, everything slowed down. He used the one possible counter he knew might possibly work against his father’s hold. His odds were almost non-existent, but he used every scrap of strength he had to power through it, and suddenly he was swinging the creature around in front of him.

There was no way he’d be able to hold the thing for more than a moment or two.

Not long enough for there to be time for his brother to pull out his weapon and fire. Not if Dean wasn’t already prepared.

“Dean!” he yelled, willing everything he was into his plea for help, knowing it was useless.

The shot exploded violently in the small room, echoing through the silence and splattering blood and bone and brain matter everywhere.

Dean was close enough in range that he was covered in it as well. They stared at each other, stunned for a moment…

…and then time sped up to normal again.

“Dad!” Dean yelled, rushing forward. Sam released the body and scrambled backwards, desperately trying to pull his pants back up as he did so.

Dean rushed forward, grabbing the ruins of their father’s face in his hands and peering desperately into his eyes.

“Not Dad, Dean, that’s not Dad…” the words spilled from Sam’s lips several times before Dean, dazed, looked up at Sam, looking more than a little shattered himself.

“Not Dad,” he repeated numbly. With a shudder, he released the body and finally saw Sam for real. His face paled even further as he took in the state of Sam’s clothes. “You okay?”

Sam looked at the sightless eyes that stared up at nothing from his father’s ruined face. Its torso was twisted, hiding its unzipped state. Sam was glad Dean had at least been spared that sight. The creature was dead. It was over.

His legs were shaking and he felt a little dizzy. Dean’s question slowly filtered through his muddled thoughts. “No,” he replied belatedly. Heedless of the blood soaked blankets, he sank down onto the bed as his legs slowly gave out.

Dean moved towards Sam, worry marring his features, uncertainty shading his approach.

He didn’t… he didn’t want Dean to worry about him. It felt like everything had been taken from him over the past couple months, felt like he’d been stripped to the bone, but his brother couldn’t keep ignoring his own pain just to deal with Sam’s.

“It told me what it did to you, Dean,” he croaked out.

Dean jerked back a little. “I don’t…” he started, but cut himself off almost immediately. He straightened, his tone suddenly commanding. “Sam, grab your stuff. Let’s go. We need to clear out before the cops get here. That shot will have been heard for blocks around.”

“Dean…”

“Now, Sam!” his brother yelled at him, grabbing bags and slinging them over his shoulder, heedless of the red that smeared his clothes as he moved around the room. Slowly, Sam got to his feet, grabbed his stuff, and stumbled out to the car.

Dean pulled out of the lot with a squeal of tires as soon as they were both inside. Sam couldn’t look at his brother. The look on Dean’s face when he thought it was possible he shot Dad… Like so many other things, Sam wished he could erase that memory from his brain. Dean had looked completely devastated. His fear hadn’t even allowed him to glance at Sam.

They drove in silence, Sam staring out the side window at the blur of passing scenery. He wasn’t sure his brain would have made any better sense of the view if they’d been stationary. He leaned his forehead against the cool glass, and he wasn’t sure if the cold against his throbbing head was helping or making it worse.

He knew he should say something to Dean, but he couldn’t come up with what. Everything was spinning nauseatingly, and he closed his eyes and let his tired head settle against the leather seat. _Dean…_ He wasn’t sure if he’d said that out loud or not, but he couldn’t seem to make himself worry about it as his thoughts spun off into oblivion.

“Sammy!” The harshly spoken word jarred him as much as the sharp sting against his cheek where Dean’s hand had just connected. His eyes fluttered open. It was daylight. They were still in the Impala, but they weren’t moving anymore.

“Sammy?” Dean repeated. He was leaning over Sam, his worried gaze only inches from Sam’s own. “You with me?”

“Yeah,” he croaked out. Fuck, his mouth tasted like he’d eaten a dessert.

“Crap, man. You scared the shit out of me,” Dean muttered, pulling back a little. “You wouldn’t wake up.”

“I wouldn’t?” Sam repeated, confused. He only remembered hearing Dean call to him once.

“Yeah. My fucking fault. I was so worried about the cops that it didn’t even occur to me that the state of your face might have warranted a trip to the hospital.”

“My face?” Sam parroted back stupidly. He reached up and touched his cheek, and hissed against the crackle of pain that radiated out from the spot.

“Yeah. Looks like you took quite a beating last night.”

Dean was pulling Sam’s lids open wider with his fingers, and Sam swatted him away irritably.

“Dude, I’m okay. Knock it off.”

“You wouldn’t wake up. I need to check you out.”

Dean leaned in closer, and Sam suddenly couldn’t stay still. He fumbled behind himself and pulled the handle. The door flew open, and Dean’s hand clenched in his shirt was the only thing that kept him from tumbling backwards. He pushed Dean away angrily and scrambled out of the car.

They were in the middle of nowhere, next to a small lake amidst rolling hills. Peaceful. But it only served to fuel Sam’s anger. He started walking away, towards the water, but Dean’s hand on his shoulder brought him up short.

He whirled around, fury blinding him, and he swung out, but managed to miss Dean by a mile.

“Dude!” Dean shouted. “What the hell are you so pissed at me for?”

“Because…” Sam shouted back, and then… he couldn’t come up with anything else to say. He didn’t honestly know why he was feeling anything. A laugh bubbled up out of nowhere. He felt almost manic. He whirled around, taking a few more long strides closer to the water before his legs gave out from under him and he sank to the ground, tears suddenly dampening his face.

“Sammy?” Dean called out cautiously, walking slowly towards him.

He couldn’t answer. Now that he’d started crying, he couldn’t seem to make himself stop. He lurched forward, balancing on all fours before slamming his fist angrily against the earth. It felt good, and he did it again.

“Sam!” Dean yelled angrily, grabbing Sam’s arms and holding him so that he couldn’t lash out.

Dean looked scared out of his mind.

Sam crumbled forward, losing himself in his pain and the comfort of his brother’s arms.

~o0O0o~

Dean clung to Sam, rocking him back and forth like he was a little kid despite the impossibility of fitting his brother’s long, lanky limbs in his lap. The image made him laugh a little, but heightened his awareness of his own tears. He didn’t know what to do or how to fix this.

But at least, for right now, Sam was turning towards him for comfort instead of turning away. He still wasn’t sure what had happened in the hotel room. Thank god his instincts had him turning back with his gun drawn. He’d been more than halfway convinced he was going to get nothing more than a reaming out by his Dad for failing to obey orders, but he’d gone in gun drawn anyway. And walked in on…

His brain once again shied away from that memory. He wasn’t ready to face it yet. The creature had… no. He’d only caught a glimpse, but he hadn’t been gone long enough for anything to have happened.

But it had tried.

It was one thing for the creature to have taken on Sam’s form and done… what it had done. But their dad? He thought maybe that would kill him. But Sam was stronger than that. Sam had always been stronger than he was.

He looked out at the water. He was desperately thirsty and the view made him ache for something to drink. And he had to pee on top of that. He looked away. Petty. His needs were petty in the face of what had happened to his brother. And he still didn’t have any idea how to fix it. The pain in his chest forced another sob from his throat, and his grip tightened on Sam just a little more. If he’d had the faintest inkling this would happen, he never would have gone to Stanford for him.

Of course, given their luck, that only would have resulted in Sam burning up in the fire with his girlfriend.

Why were their lives so fucking cursed?

Sam started to pull away, and Dean released him automatically. He scrambled back a couple of feet and started ripping his clothes off. What the fuck?

“Sammy?” Dean asked warily.

“His blood, that creature’s blood. God, it’s all over me. I need… I have to get it off.” Sam threw the last of his clothes down and ran into the water.

Dean watched, his face slowly reddening with the realization that he, too, was covered in gore that he hadn’t even attempted to clean off. Now that he was aware of it, it was itching uncomfortably. There was no one around. Sam’s idea wasn’t half bad.

He stripped off his own clothes and gingerly stepped into the water… and practically fell over his own feet jumping back out. Holy crap it was cold! Sam didn’t seem to feel a thing, splashing water over himself almost frantically, but Dean took several minutes to ease himself in, finally just swimming several feet out and then back again to scramble out immediately. Shivering, he made his way back to the car and grabbed a couple of towels from the trunk.

Sam was still splashing around like a drowning fish. He dried himself off and pulled on some clothes to stop his shivering, then turned resolutely back to his brother.

“Sam?” he called out as he approached. When his brother didn’t acknowledge him, he called out sharply, “Sammy!”

Sam whipped around and stumbled backwards, landing on his ass in the water. Under other circumstances, Dean might have laughed.

Sam didn’t get up, just looked at Dean with a lost expression that begged Dean to come up with the answers. Fucking hell, Dean would have liked to accommodate his brother on this one.

“Dean,” Sam said softly, “Stop focusing on me like I’m the only one who got hurt on this one.”

“What?” Dean responded, perplexed.

Sam stood up and moved towards Dean, the water cascading off his skin his only nod towards decency. Dean stepped back uncomfortably, then remembered he still had a towel in his hand for Sam. “Here,” he mumbled, holding it out awkwardly.

Sam took it and slowly wrapped it around himself, much to Dean’s relief.

“See, that’s what I’m talking about. We’ve gone skinny dipping a hundred times before together and it’s never fazed you before.”

“Well, that’s because…” Dean’s voice trailed off. He turned around and started moving back to the car. “We gotta find a place to hole up for a while. Take a real shower,” he called back.

Sam’s hand on his shoulder sent him swinging around and his fist impacted with Sam’s already damaged face before Dean could stop himself.

Sam went down, and Dean followed him, swearing and frantically grabbing hold of his face to inspect the damage. “It told me, Dean. It told me what it did to you at the hospital,” Sam said miserably.

Dean had to force himself to keep his grip on his brother’s face relaxed. It didn’t look like his fist had connected that well. Thank god for small favors.

“Nothing happened, and you’re okay,” he pronounced, standing up and opening the driver’s side. He thought briefly about offering his brother the keys, but, yeah, concussion boy was so not getting anywhere near the steering wheel of his baby, no matter how bad Dean felt.

“But…”

“I don’t even really remember it being there! I was unconscious most of the time. Now get in the damn car!” Dean ordered. _Just drop it, Sammy_ , he willed. _Please, just drop it…_

“No! Not until we talk about this,” Sam replied anxiously. “It told me it got you off, Dean. So you weren’t unconscious for all of it…”

Suddenly, the weight of his brother’s gaze was too much, and Dean turned, slamming the door shut and using the warm metal to guide his slow slide to the ground. The memories were there, just under the surface and begging for release, but he couldn’t go there. Not in the face of all that Sam had been put through. That had to come first. Sam had to come first. He knew he maybe thought that a little too often, but this time it was true.

It sounded like Sam was stretching himself out across the roof of the car, but he didn’t come around so he could see Dean, thank god. Dean was glowing red with shame. He couldn’t add to the pain in Sam’s eyes. The universe couldn’t ask that of him.

“Dean, please don’t… Just tell me. Please. I need to know. How many times?”

“I…” his eyes were burning. He didn’t want to talk about this. But the pleading need in Sam’s voice was hard to resist.

“Dean?”

“Fuck. Only once, okay? I mean, it was there a few times, but I always knew it wasn’t you, and it was only one hand job. The rest of the time was just.... It was just... It wasn’t a big deal, okay?” Dean responded harshly, feeling cornered. The memories of inappropriate touches were pushing at his sanity.

“I’m sorry…” Sam breathed.

“Why?” Dean responded, mystified. Sam wasn’t the one the creature was obsessed with. If anything, this was all Dean’s fault.

“I’m just… I’m sorry you had to go through that. You… you know that just because it got you off, that doesn’t mean you wanted it or that you’re gay, right? It’s just our body’s reaction to stimulation. It was just an orgasm.”

_A fucking amazing orgasm…_ Dean choked that thought off at its root. He was so not going there. Sam didn’t need to know what a wanton sick fuck he’d been that last time. “Yeah, Sammy, I know,” he husked out.

Sam walked around the car and back out towards the water. He still only had the towel wrapped around him, and Dean could make out the top of his name above the covering. Sam would always have that permanent reminder of what had happened. The fucker had made sure that Sam’d never be allowed to forget what had happened.

Sam’s legs folded and he sank to the ground, his eyes never leaving the water. Dean stood reluctantly and moved to stand next to his brother. His gaze went to the water as well. They must make a nice picture, the two of them together against the backdrop of the peaceful lake.

He barely had to stoop to put his hand on Sam’s still damp shoulder. A shudder ran through his brother, but that was his only reaction to the touch, so Dean didn’t pull back.

“Let’s just… I wanna find a hunt, Dean. Do something normal. Something simple.”

“Okay,” Dean replied.

“And I don’t…” Sam took a breath, glanced nervously up at Dean before fixing his gaze back on the water. “I don’t want to look for Dad anymore.”

“What?” Dean responded, pulling his hand back, a little startled. Finding Dad had been Sam’s total fixation since Jess…

“After what… After… I just… I can’t face him right now. I’m not… I just can’t face him right now. Maybe not for a while. I don’t know.”

Dean sank down next to Sam, careful not to look his brother in the face. He didn’t want to ask the obvious question, didn’t know what he’d do if Sam said yes, but, “Do you want me to leave, too?”

Sam had every reason in the world to never want to see Dean again. Way more reason to avoid Dean than Dad, for sure.

“No,” Sam replied easily.

“But…” Dean wasn’t sure why he was arguing, but he couldn’t stop himself from pushing. “I get it. It must be impossible to even look at me right now,” Dean said miserably.

“But it’s not,” Sam answered. He turned toward Dean. “Look at me.”

Dean obeyed reluctantly, suddenly afraid of what he’d see. Their gazes locked, and Dean saw nothing but sincerity in Sam’s earnest face. “What the creature did, it wasn’t… I’ve always trusted you, Dean. You were my whole world when we were growing up. There’s nothing you wouldn’t do for me, and I knew that. It was the one thing in our crazy lives I could depend on. You’re my big brother, and I know you’d never hurt me. That’s at my core. You know? And I…”

Sam paused, looking like he might fall apart again. Choking his emotions back with obvious effort, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath in through his nose, shaking it off. When he looked back up, he met Dean’s eyes again steadily. “What the creature did, even with your face, I can’t reconcile that with who I know you are,” he said softly. “Yeah, sometimes I look at you, and I remember… and that’s… hard...” Sam’s voice broke a little, and he looked down. He swallowed heavily before looking back up at Dean. In that moment he looked impossibly young, and Dean was once again reminded that Sam was only twenty-two. It was only a moment, though, and his gaze hardened. He added determinedly, “But it wasn’t you. I know that.”

Dean had the sudden urge to curl himself around his little brother and never let go, never let anything bad happen to him ever again. But he couldn’t go there. Especially not now. He kept his hand firmly planted on the ground. “What…” he started.

Sam cut him off. “Dad’s different. Things were never easy between us. He wasn’t there for us, and I never felt like he really saw me.”

Dean opened his mouth to interrupt, to argue on his father’s behalf, but… the expression on Sam’s face kept him quiet.

Sam seemed to be looking through Dean, and he continued on, oblivious to Dean’s discomfort. “Not that I think that he ever wanted... _that_ , but the creature said some things…” Sam closed his eyes, looking almost sick for a moment.

This time Dean couldn’t stop himself from opening his mouth. “What did that piece of shit say? It lies, Sammy. It lied about what I feel. It lied about what Dad feels.”

Sam’s gaze was fixed firmly on the ground, and he shook his head. “I just don’t think I can face him right now. Not after what I… not after what it did…”

Sam was visibly shaking again, and it looked like it was taking everything he had to hold himself together. Dean looked around, desperate for something to distract them, and his gaze landed on their strewn clothing.

He stood up and grabbed his jeans, wadding them up in a ball. “Well, I don’t think I’ll ever want to wear these again,” he muttered. He gave a primal yell and launched them as far as he could out into the water.

He watched them resurface and float there, the blood stains invisible from this distance.

After a few moments, Sam muttered, “You’re polluting the water, you know.”

“Call me the devil then,” he replied, reaching down and grabbing one of his shoes. He threw that out into the water as well, and it went much farther than the pants had. That was satisfying, so he picked up the other one and threw that as well. It hit the water with a gratifying splash. “Come on, join me. It’s actually kind of therapeutic.”

He glanced back but Sam wasn’t sitting on the ground anymore. He’d gotten up and gathered the rest of the clothing and was walking over to some of the large rocks that jutted from the ground near the water. While Dean just stood there watching dumbly, Sam dumped his small load onto one of the rocks and then walked back to the car to scrounge out a book of matches and some lighter fluid.

As Sam approached the clothes again with a grim look on his face, Dean cautiously moved forward unsure of what was running through his brother’s mind. “Sam?” he questioned as he neared.

Sam didn’t really acknowledge him, just sprayed some fluid over the material and sparked the whole pack, letting it fall onto the clothes to ignite with a whoosh.

“Even this is gonna leave ash behind. You can’t really make anything go away,” Sam said quietly.

“No, you can’t,” Dean agreed.

Sam was shaking again, his face drawn, and Dean ached to be able to do something to take the pain away, but there wasn’t any more he could do now than the last hundred times he’d had the thought.

“You want to add my... It’s back in the car, my pendant, I mean,” Dean offered hesitantly. “We could add it to the fire, if you wanted.”

Sam wrapped his arms around himself, looking even sicker than before, if that was possible. “You still have it?” Sam whispered.

“Yeah. The way you reacted when you saw it in the hospital, I’ve been afraid to bring it up. But, yeah, I still have it.”

“Leave it where it is,” Sam replied quietly. “I’m... I’m not ready to see it yet. I don’t know... just keep it away for now, okay?”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever you need.”

They both turned back to the fire and watched the cloth slowly get eaten away. It was sort of mesmerizing, watching the multi-colored flames lick over the worn cloth, slowly bleeding it to black. Dean almost jumped when Sam suddenly offered, “I’m sorry, Dean.”

“What? Why? For what? You haven’t got a damn thing to be sorry for,” Dean shot back.

“I’m… I thought I could be strong, but…”

“You are, Sam. We’re gonna get through this. It’s just going to take some time,” Dean replied, with far more confidence than he actually felt. “If you just pretend long enough, eventually, it becomes reality. Come on, let’s hit the road. Find that hunt you were talking about.”

Sam watched the flames again for a moment. It looked like he was searching for something. A rather explosive pop from the fire made them both jump slightly. Dean laughed a little self-consciously, and Sam answered him with a forced smile. “Yeah. Okay. From here on out, I’m gonna follow your lead.”

Dean clapped his brother on the shoulder and started pushing him back towards the Impala. “That’s right, Sam. I’m gonna get you through this. You trust me?”

Sam let out a small snort. “Always.”

“Don’t think I’m going to let you forget you said that,” Dean shot back.

Sam actually laughed a little and Dean felt a small bit of hope flare. He would find a way to get them through this. As soon as they got back to the car, Dean snagged some clothes for Sam and threw them at his little brother. He couldn’t hold in his soft laugh in when the t-shirt landed on top of Sam’s head. Sam jerked the cloth off his face with an irritated sigh, and Dean gave one last chuckle before sliding behind the wheel. Sam pulled the clothes on quickly, got into the Impala, and Dean floored it, letting the car take them where it would.

 

 

**_La Fin._ **

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